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ESTHER  WATERS 
BY  GEORGE  MOORE 


s 


ESTHER  WATERS 
BY  GEORGE  MOORE 

A  PLAY  IN  FIVE  kcTS 


BOSTON:    JOHN  W.  LUCE  AND   COMPANY 
1913 


^^v 


K'. 


Printed  in  England 


a"" 


>  •)  -' 


•  •  •••••  »»  ' 

•  •  •  •  •  .•  •  .•  •  • 


ACT  I 

THE  SERVANTS'  HALL  AT  WOODVIEW 

ACT  II 

KITCHEN  IN  A  COTTAGE 

ACT  III 

LIVING-ROOM   IN  MRS.  LEWIS'S  COTTAGE 

ACT  IV 

A  ROOM  ABOVE  THE  BAR  IN  THE  KING'S 

HEAD 

ACT  V 

A  ROOM  AT  WOODVIEW 

Five  years  elapse  between  Acts  IV  and  V 


Aiy-k  f\a  1 


This  play  was  produced  for  the  first  time  at  the  Apollo  Theatre^  on 
December  10, 191  i,a/  eight  o'clock.  The  programme  was  as  fallows: 

ESTHER  WATERS 

A  Play  in  Five  Acts 
By    GEORGE    MOORE 

The  Play  produced  by  J.  Clifford  Brooke 

THE    PEOPLE    OF    THE    PLAY    IN    THE    ORDER    OF    THEIR 
APPEARANCE 

F.  Gremlin 


Randal 

William 

Sarah 

Esther  Waters 

Mrs.  Latch 

Mrs.  Barfield 

Ginger        ' ' •      ^  ^    ^ 

Carrie  Roe 

Mrs.  Spires  -  -Clm-*^^  4^"^"^ 

Rachel  Boyd^ 

Mrs.  Rivers - 

Fred  Parsons 


VW<^^«^— 


Harvey  Braban 
Miss  Evelyn  Martheze 
Miss  Lucy  Wilson 
Mrs.  a.  B.  Tapping 
Miss  Cicely  Hamilton 
Nelson  Keys 
Miss  Mabel  Knowles 
Miss  Clare  Greet 
Miss  Esme  Hubbard 
Miss  Frances  Wetherell 
Arnold  Lucy 


Mrs.  Lewis-  ^Xo  oi^  c  CJ^^u2.  1  \fi^c(Afes  Mary  Brough 


Jackie 


{i: 


Act  3 
Act  5 


;' 


Barman 

Journeyman 
Ketley 


Bill  Evans  '^'^^ 
1st  Policeman 
2nd  Policeman 


Frank  Brown 

Len.  Bethell 

fy^yJi^M  P.  L.  Julian 

Herbert  Hewetson 

^  Herbert  Bunston 

Edmund  Gurney 

Charles  Lascelles 

E. Stuart  Vinden 


Some  of  the  Artists  appeared  by  permission  of  Arthur  Chudleigh, 

Robert  Courtneidge,Miss  Lillah  McCarthy,  Sir  Herbert  Tree, 

and  Mme.  Lydia  Yavorska 

Stage  Manager         Val  Cuthbert 


PREFACE 

The  Stage  Society  wished  to  "  produce "  Esther 
Waters,  but  alas  !  the  vanity  of  man  prompted  the 
thought  that  it  was  beneath  my  dignity  to  submit  the 
play  to  the  judgment  of  the  Committee,  and  so  we 
found  ourselves  in  an  alley  to  which  there  seemed  to 
be  no  outlet,  until  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  could  not 
do  better  than  to  write  to  Bernard  Shaw,  and  he  sent 
me  the  following  postcard  in  reply : 

"  I  have  tried  every  possible  way  of  bringing 
about  the  correct  position,  but  it  is  easier  for  a 
camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle  than  to 
get  any  sort  of  delicate  nuance  of  manners  into 
the  head  of  a  well-intentioned  British  committee. 
Whelen's  difficulty  is  that  if  he  pledges  himself 
to  anything,  his  committee  may  throw  him  over. 
He  knows  by  experience  that  a  play  has  to  be 
quite  extraordinarily  bad  to  obtain  unanimous 
support.  All  our  great  achievements  with  Ibsen, 
Tolstoy,  Tchekoff,  &c.,  have  been  scraped  through 
by  snatched  divisions,  and  majorities  of  one  at 
that.  An  exquisite  play  by  Tchekoff  was  actually 
hissed.  You  cannot  conceive  how  inferior  we 
are  (a  small  circle  excepted)  to  the  common  play- 
goer. However,  I  will  go  at  Whelen  again  and 
make  him  understand  that  you  do  not  propose 
to  reopen  the  question  of  your  choice  of  a  pro- 
fession with  him.  G.  B.  S." 

The  fragrant  blending  of  kindliness  and  humour 
in  this  postcard  seemed  to  leave  me  no  choice  but  to 
send  Esther  Waters  to  my  old  friend  with  a  note  saying 
that  if  he  could  recommend  the  play  to  the  Stage 
Society  for  performance  I  should  be  grateful,  and  that 

ix 


// 


if  he  could  not,  his  opinion  would  be  equally  valuable, 
for  it  would  save  me  from  further  trouble.  I  should  just 
put  the  play  aside  and  never  give  it  another  thought. 
He  did  not,  however,  think  the  play  altogether  un- 
worthy, and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  know  that  I  owe 
its  performance  to  my  oldest  friend,  for  gratitude  is  a 
luxury  in  which  I  like  to  indulge,  and  this  play  affords 
me  many  opportunities  "  of  indulging  "  in  my  virtue. 
And  having  thanked  Shaw,  I  have  to  thank  the  Stage 
Society  for  the  appearance  in  flesh  and  blood  of  all  my 
characters.  Mr.  Whelen  and  the  Committee  dis- 
covered them  all  with  few  exceptions,  I  could  hardly 
believe  my  eyes  ;  but  there  they  were,  all  looking 
exactly  like  themselves,  assembled  for  rehearsalsjand 
not  one  day  older  than  when  I  saw  them  for  the  Iirst 
timej^  It  was  a  pleasure  to  shake  hands  with  them  all. 
The  nrst  to  speak  is  Sarah  Tucker  ;  and  Miss  Evelyn 
Martheze's  intonations  and  gestures  were  the  same  as 
those  I  had  heard  and  seen  years  ago.  She  rose,  how- 
ever, above  my  dream  of  her  in  her  fear  and  her  animal 
submission  to  the  horrible  ponce.  Bill  Evans,  who  dis- 
covers her  hiding  from  him  in  the  "  King's  Head." 
The  old  butler,  Randal,  was  written  out  of  one  of  my 
very  earliest  remembrances,  and  Mr.  F.  Gremlin  made 
us  feel  that  Randal's  life  had  been  linked  with  the 
Gafier's  from  the  very  beginning,  their  lives  had  flown 
on  together,  and  by  one  or  two  skilful  touches  he 
suggested  this  long  intimacy  and  how  familiar  he  was 
with  the  house.  Mr.  Harvey  Braban  as  William  Latch 
reproduced  not  only  all  that  I  thought  and  felt  while 
writing,  but  the  very  appearance  of  the  original  who 
worked  round  the  table  with  the  original  of  Randal 
some  forty-five  years  ago.  The  part  of  Mrs.  Latch 
is  a  very  small  one,  only  a  few  lines,  but  these  were 
admirably  delivered  by  Mrs.  Tapping.     Esther  Waters 


seemed  to  have  grown  a  little  taller,  but  Miss 
Lucy  Wilson  was  extraordinarily  like — like  whom  ? 
Will  the  reader  believe  me  ?  —  very  like  the 
original  from  whom  the  picture  was  painted,  a 
pretty  kitchen-maid  and  fellow-servant  of  Latch  and 
Randal. 

Miss  Wilson  is  a  very  accomplished  artist  and  takes 
her  art  seriously,  and  she  carried  through  a  very  long 
and  arduous  part  "  without  ever  letting  it  drop."  If 
her  Esther  Waters  did  not  flash  into  the  fire  of  life,  the 
fault  was  as  much  mine  as  the  actress's  ;  for  there  is 
a  little  too  much  Esther  in  the  play,  and  if  it  had  been 
possible  to  cut  her  out  of  the  second  act  her  re- 
appearance in  the  third  act  would  have  been  waited 
for  eagerly. 

For  a  long  time  past  my  memories  of  the  stage  were 
two  :  Jean  de  Reszky  in  Tristan  and  Forbes  Robertson 
in  Hamlet ;  Miss  Cicely  Hamilton  has  given  me  a  third, 
and  I  shall  never  forget  the  strain  of  inaudible  music 
that  began  as  soon  as  she  opened  the  door ;  her  voice 
took  it  up  and  it  grew  more  and  more  intense,  spending 
itself  at  last  in  the  beautiful  crescendo  when  she  asks 
Esther  to  say  a  prayer  with  her.  The  two  women  have 
only  just  risen  from  their  knees  when  Ginger  comes  in 
with  Randal  to  tell  him  how  the  horse  won  at  Good- 
wood. I  had  always  seen  Arthur  Barfield  a  tall,  thin  young 
man  about  five  feet  eight  and  riding  about  ten  seven, 
but  Mr.  Whelen  and  the  Stage  Society  had  not  distin- 
guished between  the  weights  at  Aintree  and  at  Epsom. 
They  had  sought  among  thelight-weights,  finding  at  last 
Mr.  Nelson  Keys,  who  does  not  weigh  more  than  eight 
stone.  If  ever  an  eight-stone  man  were  lifted  into  the 
pigskin  for  the  Liverpool  Steeplechase,  he  would  have 
to  get  two  stone  of  lead  into  his  saddle-cloth,  and  this 
two  stone  would  begin  to  weigh  very  heavy  when  the 

zi 


horse  jumped  into  the  racecourse.  An  admirable  actor 
is  Mr.  Nelson  Keys  in  his  own  parts,  but  his  size  and 
his  methods  were  unsuited  to  the  part  of  Ginger  ; 
circumstances,  too,  were  against  him.  He  had  been 
playing  in  The  Arcadians  for  nearly  two  years,  and 
thought  he  would  like  to  escape  from  patter  into 
dialogue  ;  but  however  weary  we  may  be  of  our 
habits  we  cannot  shake  them  off  at  once,  and  to  my 
surprise,  and  no  doubt  to  his  own,  he  found  it  difficult 
to  drop  from  three  hundred  and  fifty  words  a  minute 
to  about  one  hundred  and  twenty.  A  description 
of  a  race  cannot  be  spoken  very  fast.  The  audience 
must  have  time  to  realise  each  event  as  it  happens. 
Mr.  Keys  understood  this  very  well,  but  he  found 
much  difficulty  in  ridding  himself  of  the  habit  of 
speaking  too  fast,  and  we  had  many  little  interviews 
on  the  subject ;  I  read  the  account  of  the  race  to 
him  and  the  producer  read  it,  and  eventually  Mr.  Keys 
reduced  his  speed  to  about  two  hundred  words  a 
minute  and  played  the  part  to  the  entire  satisfaction 
y  of  the  audience. 
^  .If  this  play  is  ever  acted  again,  I  think  it  would  be 
^well  to  leave  out  the  second  act ;  certainly  it  would 
be  well  to  do  so  if  Miss  Clare  Greet  is  not  in  the  cast. 
The  only  excuse  for  playing  it  in  the  first  instance 
was  her  genius,  which  flared  up  in  the  part  of  Mrs. 
Spires  as  brightly  as  Miss  Cicely  Hamilton's  did  in 
the  part  of  Mrs.  Barfield.  After  listening  for  two  or 
three  minutes  I  could  not  do  else  than  interrupt  the 
rehearsal.  "  Miss  Greet,"  I  said,  "  are  you  speaking 
the  text  or  are  you  making  it  up  ?  "  And  when  she 
told  me  she  was  speaking  the  text,  I  answered,  "  I  only 
asked  because  I  had  no  idea  I  had  written  anything 
so  good."  Nor  had  I ;  my  words  were  but  a  pretext 
for  Miss  Greet's  genius,  and  it  was  only  necessary  to 
xii 


glance  at  the  text  to  feel  that  the  instrument  counted 
for  more  than  the  composer. 

Miss  Mabel  Knowles  realised  my  conception  of 
Carrie  Roe,  and  she  added  something  to  it ;  and  I 
liked  the  reality  better  than  the  imagination.  I  did 
not  suspect,  however,  that  any  actress  could  make  the 
part  of  Rachel  Boyd  so  winning  as  Miss  Esme  Hubbard 
made  it.  It  had  seemed  to  me  very  true  while  I 
wrote  ;  it  is  not  in  the  novel ;  but  Miss  Hubbard 
brought  a  lyrical  note  into  it  that  I  had  not  thought 
of,  and  while  listening  to  her  I  said,  "  There  is  no  doubt 
that  acting  tells  something  that  no  other  art  can 
tell."  Miss  Frances  Wetherall  did  not  think  that 
Mrs.  Rivers  would  speak  of  "  suckling  "  her  baby,  and 
she  is  possibly  right,  but  I  explained  to  her  in  the 
wings  that  I  did  not  propose  "  to  reopen  the  question 
of  my  choice  of  a  profession  with  her,"  and  the  part  / 
was  played  by  her,  notwithstanding  the  faulty  dialogue, 
quite  as  well  as  it  deserved  to  be  played. 

Fred  Parsons  was  a_  stationer  near  the  Tem£le;  j\iJ 
every  time  I  went  into  the  shop  to  buy  notepaper  it 
seemed  to  me  that  he  was  just  the  kind  of  man  who 
would  marry  Esther  ;  and  when  Mr.  Arnold  Lucy 
came  on  the  stage  at  rehearsal  my  impulse  was  to  go 
up  to  him  and  congratulate  him  on  having  conquered 
his  aversion  from  the  stage,  for  his  fetch  had  told  me 
that  he  had  never  been  inside  a  theatre  in  his  life. 
I  stood  looking  at  him,  muttering,  "  But  he  isn't  a  day 
older  "  ;  and  now  I  have  much  pleasure  in  thanking 
Mr.  Lucy  for  his  admirable  acting  in  the  third  act. 
He  not  only  looked  the  part  but  he  played  it. 

This  preface  will,  I  fear,  read  somewhat  monoton- 
ously ;  I  have  got  nothing  but  good  to  say  of  every- 
body. Well,  the  fault  is  with  the  Stage  Society  for 
having   given    an    almost   ideal   cast.     I    seemed    to 

xiii 


meet  my  imaginations  in  the  flesh  everywhere 
and  nowhere  more  vividly  than  in  the  person  of 
Miss  Mary  Brough.  She  acted  the  dear  homely 
soul  that  I  had  dreamed  of.  But  I  must  do  a  little 
fault-finding,  just  for  the  sake  of  the  reader,  and  if 
Mr.  Edmund  Gurney  will  forgive  me  I  will  tell  him 
that  I  did  not  see  Bill  Evans  as  a  gipsy  until  he  came 
on  the  stage.  But  there  is  no  reason  why  Bill  Evans 
should  not  have  been  a  long-haired  gipsy.  His  inter- 
pretation brought  a  picturesque  touch  into  the  play, 
and  if  Mr.  Gurney  plays  the  part  again  I  would  not 
have  him  alter  his  make-up  nor  any  intonation  or 
gesture.  He  did  not  shrink  from  any  of  the  crude 
expressions  used  ;  he  brought  the  part  out  in  all  its 
ferocious  reality,  and  I  hope  that  my  appreciation  of 
his  acting  will  please  him. 

The  scene  between  the  two  backers  of  horses  struck 
me  as  being  one  of  the  good  scenes  in  the  play, 
reminding  me,  if  small  things  may  be  compared  to 
great,  of  the  scene  when  Mimi  and  Alberich  yell  at 
each  other  before  the  cave  in  which  the  dragon  lives. 
Mr.  Herbert  Bunston  related  his  belief  in  omens  with 
so  much  conviction  that  one  felt  very  much  inclined 
to  bet  according  to  his  system.  Mr.  Herbert 
Hewetson's  jeers  at  his  reading  of  the  omens  did  not 
shake  his  belief  for  a  moment,  and  Mr.  Herbert 
Hewetson  was  as  convinced  that  the  winner  could 
only  be  picked  by  a  long  study  of  the  weights.  I  have 
put  off  speaking  of  Jackie,  Esther's  child.  He  is  eight 
years  in  the  third  act,  and  at  that  age  children,  especially 
boys,  are  ungainly  on  the  stage.  A  mother  loves  her 
child  because  he  is  her  child,  but  in  my  play  it  was 
necessary  to  have  a  boy  that  would  make  the  audience 
feel  that  Esther  could  not  do  else  than  sacrifice  her 
whole  life  for  him.  The  Stage  Society  had  not  time 
xiv 


to  look  round  to  find  the  ideal  Jackie,  and  I  made  their 
task  very  difficult  by  stipulating  that  a  boy  must  play  the 
part.  For  nothing  is  more  disagreeable  than  to  see  a 
girl  in  a  boy's  part,  or  a  woman  playing  a  man's  part, 
especially  in  a  love  scene.  Were  both  in  petticoats  it 
might  be  endurable,  but  when  one  is  in  hose  it  is 
unendurable.  There  is  no  zest  in  it,  no  smack  upon 
it,  and  I  do  not  regret  that  Master  Frank  Brown 
played  the  part,  though  he  must  have  put  the  thought 
into  many  a  head  that  it  was  stupid  for  a  mother  to 
love  so  wooden  a  child.  But  is  not  every  one  wooden 
when  he  goes  on  the  stage  for  the  first  time  ?  An 
older  boy  played  in  the  fifth  act,  but  I  am  not  sure 
that  we  gained  by  the  change. 

Esther  Waters  was  produced  by  Mr.  Clifford  Brooke, 
and  from  the  first  rehearsal  he  seemed  to  have  the 
entire  play  in  his  head,  and  to  see  it  on  the  stage  in 
its  every  detail.  So  I  never  interfered  ;  there  was  no 
necessity.  Once  I  did  interfere.  It  seemed  to  me 
preferable  that  the  prayer  should  be  recited  in  the 
middle  of  the  stage  in  front  of  the  audience,  and  in 
this  it  appears  that  I  was  wrong  ;  at  all  events,  a  well- 
known  actress  and  one  of  great  talent  complained  of 
this  bit  of  stage  management.  Her  suggestion  was 
that  Esther  should  hide  her  face  in  a  cushion  ;  that 
would  give  an  idea  of  family  prayers,  and  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  public  and  the  artistic  producer  I 
am  sure  she  is  right ;  but  as  I  very  seldom  write  plays 
and  shall  never  own  a  theatre  nobody  need  be  seriously 
annoyed  because  I  think  everything  outside  of  the  text 
and  the  acting  is  mere  vulgarity. 


XV 


Act  I  ;■■;,;,;  ;;:"0;:j.iviA 

Scene  :  The  servants^  hall  at  Woodview,  When  the 
curtain  rises ^  randal,  william,  and  sarah  are 
on  the  stage, 

SARAH 

Mr.  Randal,  can  you  tell  us  if  the  race  'as  been  run  ? 

RANDAL 

Deuce  take  the  woman  !  \Looks  at  his  watchP^  The 
race  was  at  three  o'clock,  and  it  is  now  on  the  stroke 
of  five.  I  don't  know  why  we  'aven't  'card  the 
result. 

SARAH 

Would  they  know  it  in  Shoreham  ? 

RANDAL 

I  was  down  there  'alf  an  hour  ago,  and  no  paper  had 
come  in. 

SARAH 

Perhaps  the  'orse  'asn't  won,  after  all.  If  he  was 
beaten  the  Gaffer  wouldn't  wire — would  'e,  Mr. 
Randal  ? 

RANDAL 

Don't  let's  heat  about  'im  being  beaten.    'E  couldn't 

be  beaten.     It's  a  cert. 

WILLIAM 

You  'ear  what  he  says,  Sarah  ?     He  knows. 


Nolle  bi' ye' kncWcu'  '^Avcin't  you  often  told  me  before 
'orses  were  going  to  win  and  they  came  in  last? 
You're  always  telling  me  that  'orses  are 

WILLIAM  [Aside] 

Can't  you  see  you're  riling  'im  ?     'E's  got  a  lot  of 

money  on  the  'orse. 

SARAH 

I  only  wants  to  know  if  the  'orse  has  won. 

RANDAL 

You're  thinking  of  the  tuppenny-halfpenny  sweeps — 
of  the  seven  bob  you'll  win. 

SARAH 

If  Man-at-Arms  comes  in  first. 

RANDAL 

A  lot  of  good  them  seven  bob  will  do  you  ! 

SARAH 

You  mean  that  if  Silver  Braid  is  beaten  there'll  be  an 

end  to  Woodview,  and  we'll  all  get  the  sack  ? 

WILLIAM 

That's  about  it.  And  my  poor  mother  who  'as  been 
cook  'ere  for  the  last  forty  years 

RANDAL  [Getting  up] 

She  thinks  of  nothing  but  that  seven  bob. 

WILLIAM 

Sit  down,  Mr.  Leopold.     You  see,  women 


RANDAL 

They  oughtn't  to  'ave  been  allowed  into  the  sweep  at 
all ;  only  you're  never  'appy  except  you  'ave  a  woman 
after  you. 

[He  sits  down.] 

WILLIAM 

A  lot  of  good  that  seven  bob  will  do  you,  Sarah ! 
Your  place  is  worth  more  than  seven  bob,  ain't  it  ? 

SARAH 

I  was  only  thinking  that  if  perhaps  Silver  Braid  didn't 
win  my  'orse  might. 

RANDAL 

But  why  think  of  any  'orse  except  Silver  Braid  ?  She 
keeps  on  'arping  Man-at-Arms,  Man-at-Arms 

SARAH 

No,  I  don't ;  and  if  I  do,  I  don't  see  what  that's  got 
to  do  with  anybody.  Why  shouldn't  I  wish  my  'orse 
to  win.  Where's  the  harm  ?  Thinking  won't  prevent 
Silver  Braid  from  winning,  will  it  ? 

RANDAL  [Meditatively] 
I'm  not  sure  of  that. 

WILLIAM 

Well,  I'll  be  off  to  Shoreham  once  more ;  perhaps 
the  news  has  come  in. 

RANDAL 

You'd  better  stay  where  you  are  ;    no  news  is  good 
news.     If  the  'orse  hadn't  won,  the  Gaffer  would  'ave 
wired. 
3 


SARAH 

I  should  have  thought  that  it  would  be  just  the  other 
way  round. 

WILLIAM 

Mr.  Leopold  knows ;  'e  knows,  so  what's  the  use  in 
wearing  my  legs  off  going  down  to  Shoreham  ?  And 
in  this  heat !  The  horse  has  won  by  the  length  of  the 
street,  Sarah.  He  was  tried  to  win  from  'ere  to 
Shoreham,  wasn't  he,  Mr.  Leopold  ?  The  race  is 
over  now.  There's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't 
tell  us. 

RANDAL 

No  good  comes  of  talking. 

WILLIAM 

But  the  race  is  over  ! 

RANDAL 

Yes,  the  race  is  over. 

WILLIAM 

He  was  tried  with  Nut  Bush,  wasn't  he  ? 

RANDAL 

Yes,  he  was  tried  with  the  mare.  Now  that  the  race 
is  over,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  he  beat  her  at  nine 
pounds. 

WILLIAM 

Beat  her  at  nine  pounds !     Then  'ow  was  it  that  'e 

didn't  go  up  in  the  betting  ? 

4 


RANDAL 

Ah,  the  Gaffer  was  wide  awake  for  them  !     He  went 
to  the  distance,  he  and  Swindles 

WILLIAM  [To  SARAH] 

Mr.  Ward.     I  gave  'im  that  name. 

RANDAL 

Well,  they  were  both  at  the  distance  ;  so  every  one 
thought  the  horses  were  being  tried  for  the  'alf-mile. 
The  mare  won — there  never  was  nothing  so  fast  for 
the  'alf-mile — but  the  'orse  won  at  the  three-quarters  ; 
and  all  'e  was  getting  was  nine  pounds.  The  mare 
is  backed  for  the  Cup  for  a  'eap  of  money,  and  she 
carrying  nine  stone.  The  'orse  is  carrying  six,  and  'e 
can  beat  her  at  nine  pounds.  Think  on  it !  the 
certainty  the  Cup  would  be  for  the  mare  with,  let  us 
say,  seven  stone  on  her  back.  She'd  walk  in  !  And 
the  'orse  will  walk  in  ;  'e  'as  walked  in,  I  know  it ! 
I  always  know  when  a  'orse  wins  ;  something  tells 
one.  The  only  thing  that  can  get  Silver  Braid  beaten 
in  that  race  would  be 

WILLIAM 

What  ? 

RANDAL 

The   Demon  'as  wasted  so  much  that  there  mayn't 
be  strength  in  him  to  ride  a  finish. 

WILLIAM 

The  horse  'as  won  from  'ere  to  Shoreham  ! 

SARAH 

The  Demon  looked  very  poorly  when  he  went  away. 
5 


'E  never  used  to  have  anything  but  a  little  tea — and 
how  many  doses  of  Epsom  salts  did  I  mix  for  'im  ! 

RANDAL  [Pensively] 

I  always  thought  them  two  last  pounds  should  have 
been  left  on  'im.  Had  I  been  the  Gaffer  I  would 
have  declared  two  pounds  overweight.  It  was  that 
walk  you  took  'im  to  Shoreham  and  back  and  two 
overcoats  on  'im  that  brought  off  the  two  pounds  ; 
and  if  anything  has  lost  us  the  race  it  will  be 
them  two  pounds.  There'll  be  an  enormous  field 
of  'orses. 

SARAH 

I  wish  I'd  seen  that  race.     It  would  be  something  to 

look  back  upon. 

WILLIAM 

In  old  times  all  the  servants  at  Woodview  used  to  go  to 
Richmond — ^usen't  they,  Mr.  Leopold  ? 

RANDAL 

Yes ;  in  old  times  the  Gaffer  used  to  drive  a  team. 
We  all  went  in  the  drag. 

WILLIAM 

That  was  the  year  that  Rosacrucian  won  the  Goodwood 
Cup,  wasn't  it  ? 

RANDAL 

Yes,  that  was  it. 

WILLIAM 

Those  were  good  times.  I  was  only  a  little  kid  then, 
but  I  used  to  'ear  of  them.  But  these  are  every  bit 
6 


as  good.  The  Gaffer  never  'ad  so  many  'orses  in 
training  as  'e  'as  now — 'ad  he,  Mr.  Leopold  ? 

RANDAL 

No ;  there  are  more  'orses  now  in  Woodview  than  I 
ever  remember.  Six  brood  mares,  two  stallions,  five 
yearlings — ^fifteen  horses  in  training,  ten  flat- racers, 
and  five  chasers. 

WILLIAM 

Twenty-eight  thoroughbreds  and  not  one  that  you 
could  put  into  the  shafts  except  the  old  pony  that 
takes  the  Saint  to  church. 

SARAH 

There's  some  hunters.  Wasn't  Ginger  a-'unting  all 
last  winter  ? 

WILLIAM 

Ginger  never  had  a  'unter  to  ride  to  'ounds  in  his 
life.  He  just  rides  the  chasers  and  goes  out  schooling  ; 
that's  all  Ginger's  'unting  amounts  to.  It  would  be 
much  better — don't  you  think,  Mr.  Leopold  ? — if  the 
Gaffer  confined  himself  to  the  flat  racing  and  got  rid 
of  the  screws  instead  of  trying  to  patch  them  up  and 
turn  them  into  chasers. 

RANDAL 

There's  a  good  deal  to  be  said  for  that.  But  then, 
what  would  become  of  Mr.  Arthur  ? 

WILLIAM 

It  was  Ginger  what  rode  Nut  Bush  in  the  trial.  Perhaps 

it  was  his  riding  that  got  the  mare  beaten. 

7 


RANDAL 

Not  a  bit  of  it !  Ginger  or  Mr.  Arthur,  whatever 
you  likes  to  call  'im,  can  ride  a  finish  as  well  as  the 
Demon  any  day. 

SARAH 

We  shall  all  know  in  another  'alf-hour's  time.  The 
news  can't  be  later  coming  in  than  that ;  and  if  my 
'orse  wins,  this  will  be  the  last  week's  work  I'll  do  in 
Woodview — isn't  that  it,  Mr.  Leopold  ? 

RANDAL 

I  think,  Sarah,  you  had  better  go  about  your  work. 
We'll  let  you  know  when  the  news  comes  in. 

[Exit  SARAH.] 

WILLIAM 

All  the  same,  I'm  thinking  it's  very  odd  we  'aven't  'ad 
a  wire  from  Goodwood.  I'm  getting  uneasy.  The 
news  must  be  in  the  evening  paper.  I  think  I'll  be 
off  down  to  Shoreham.  What  time  did  you  say  it 
was  ?     Five  ? 

RANDAL 

If  you  'urry  you'll  be  in  time  to  catch  the  six  o'clock 
to  Brighton. 

WILLIAM 

The  six  o'clock  to  Brighton  !  What  are  you  driving 
at  ?     Why  should  I  want  to  go  to  Brighton  ? 

RANDAL 

I  wouldn't  keep  her  waiting  if  I  was  you.  She's  one 
of  them  testy  kind — not  the  fair,  but  the  dark  jackdaw 
kind.  They  can  caw-caw  very  prettily,  but  they  can 
peck  very  'ard  at  times. 


WILLIAM 

Who  told  you  I  was  going  to  meet  a  dark  woman  ? 
I  suppose  that's  about  what  you're  aiming  at — ^isn't 
it  ?  I  don't  mind  your  knowing  it.  I  suppose  every- 
body will  know  it  to-morrow.  There'll  be  a  flare-up — 
won't  there  ?  '' 

RANDAL 

I  expect  there  will. 

WILLIAM 

But  if  the  'orse  has  won  it  won't  matter.  They'll  be 
all  thinking  of  the  money  they've  won — all  except  the 
Saint.  I'm  sorry  to  have  vexed  her,  but  after  all  one 
has  a  right 

RANDAL 

To  marry  whom  one  likes  ? 

WILLIAM 

There  never  was  such  a  man  as  you  ;  impossible  to 
keep  a  secret  from  you.  Tell  me  now,  how  did  you 
get  on  the  track  of  this  ?  I  told  her  to  change  her 
'andwriting  on  the  envelope. 

RANDAL 

And  you  came  down  every  morning  to  get  the  letters 
before  I  should  see  them. 

WILLIAM 

Every  morning  but  one  ;  it  was  that  morning  that 
did  me.  'Ow  did  you  manage  it  ?  You  never  go  out 
except  for  that  little  walk  in  the  morning  between 
twelve  and  one,  and  you  know  everything.  The 
Gaffer  can't  keep  a  trial  from  you,  and  you  know  the 
9 


pedigree  of  every  'orse  right  back  to  the  time  that 
Rosacrucian  won  the  Cup  twenty  years  ago.  Now, 
how  much  do  you  stand  to  win  on  Silver  Braid  ?  Do 
you  know,  they  say  down  in  Shoreham  that  if  Silver 
Braid  wins  you'll  buy  the  land  along  the  river's  bank 
and  put  up  a  street  ? 

RANDAL 

The  horse  has  won  right  enough.  Why  have  you 
stayed  on  'ere  ?     Why  didn't  you  go  away  with  her  ? 

WILLIAM 

Well,  we  thought  it  out  very  carefully.  She  had  to 
get  some  money  and  she  couldn't  get  it  at  once  ;  so, 
one  thing  or  another,  I  said,  "  What  does  it  matter, 
this  week  or  next  ?  "  And  I'd  like  to  stay  till  after 
the  race  for  the  Cup  was  run,  just  to  see  how  you'd 
all  take  it  'ere,  and  I  have  to  get  my  money  from 
old  Watkins  down  at  Shoreham  ...  if  the  'orse  has 
won. 

RANDAL 

He  has  won. 

WILLIAM 

I'll  have  a  tenner  in  my  pocket.  One  doesn't  like  to 
go  away  with  a  woman  without  a  penny — Shaving  to 
turn  to  ask  her  if  she'll  give  one  the  price  of  a  glass 
of  beer  wouldn't  look  very  well  the  first  day,  would 
it  ?  God  !  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer  ;  I  must  find 
out  whether  the  horse  has  won. 

RANDAL 

Wait  a  minute.  What  are  you  going  to  do  after 
you're  married  ? 

10 


WILLIAM 

We're  going  abroad  for  a  bit,  and  then  I  think  I'll 
start  as  bookmaker,  a  thousand  pounds  capital — she'll 
be  able  to  put  that  into  the  business,  and  if  we  get  on 
perhaps  I'll  'ave  a  'orse  or  two  ;  and  you  may  be  sure, 
for  old  lang  syne's  sake,  if  there's  a  good  thing  going 
you'll  know  all  about  it.     Now  I  must  be  off. 

RANDAL 

All  this  sounds  very  well  for  you  and  for [william 

makes  a  sign  that  the  name  is  not  to  he  sfokenJl  But 
what  about  the  poor  girl  you're  leaving  behind  ? 

WILLIAM 

What  poor  girl  ? 

RANDAL 

You  know  well  enough  who  I  mean — Esther. 

WILLIAM 

She's  had  nothing   to  do   with   me  this  long  time. 
She's  'ardly  spoken  to  me  for  the  last  month. 
\Enter  sarah.] 

SARAH 

Silver  Braid  has  won  !     Man-at-Arms  second. 

RANDAL  [Leaning  against  table"] 

Won  !     Thank  God  that's  over  !     If  he  hadn't— but 

I  knew  he  would. 

SARAH 

He  won  by  a  'ead — a  short  'ead. 
II 


RANDAL 

What  a  narrow  shave  !  I  think  I  must  have  a  nip  of 
something  just  to  pull  me  together. 

[Goes  into  fantry.     Enter  Esther  and  mrs.  latch.] 

SARAH 

When  is  the  money  to  be  divided  ? 

WILLIAM 

If  you're  so  keen  on  it,  the  money  may  be  divided  now. 
Here's  Esther.  There's  no  reason  v^hy  we  should 
v^ait  for  the  others.  Never  did  I  see  a  woman  so 
keen  on  tuppence-halfpenny  as  you  are,  Sarah  !  There 
was  twelve — that's  right,  isn't  it  ? — Sarah,  Margaret, 
Esther,  Miss  Grover,  Mr.  Leopold,  myself,  the  four 
boys.  Swindles,  and  Wall.  It  was  agreed  that  seven 
should  go  to  the  first,  three  to  the  second,  and  two  to 
the  third.  No  one  got  the  third  'orse,  so  I  suppose 
the  two  shillings  that  v^ould  have  gone  to  him  'ad 
better  be  given  to  the  first. 

SARAH 

Given  to  the  first  ?  Why,  that's  Esther !  Why 
should  she  get  it  ?  What  do  you  mean  no  third  ? 
Wasn't  Soap-Bubble  third  ? 

WILLIAM 

Yes,  Soap-Bubble  was  third  right  enough,  but  'e 
wasn't  in  the  sweep. 

SARAH 

Why  wasn't  he  ? 

WILLIAM 

Because  'e  wasn't  among  the  'leven  first  favourites. 

12 


We  took  them  as  they  were  quoted  in  the  betting  list 
published  in  the  Sportsman, 

SARAH 

How  was  it,  then,  that  you  put  in  Silver  Braid  ? 

WILLIAM 

You  needn't  get  so  angry,  no  one  is  cheating.  It's 
all  above-board.  If  you  don't  believe  us  you'd  better 
accuse  us  straight  out. 

SARAH 

What  I  wants  to  know  is  why  Silver  Braid  was 
included.  He  wasn't  among  the  eleven  first  favour- 
ites. 

WILLIAM 

Oh,  don't  be  so  stupid,  Sarah  !  You  know  we  agreed 
to  make  an  exception  in  favour  of  our  own  'orse. 
A  nice  sweep  it  would  have  been  if  we  hadn't  included 
Silver  Braid  ! 

SARAH 

And  now  supposing  Soap-Bubble  'ad  won,  what 
would  have  become  of  our  money  ? 

WILLIAM 

It  would  have  been  returned  ;  every  one  would  have 
got  his  shilling  back. 

SARAH 

And  now  I  am  to  get  three  shillings,  and  that  little 
Methodist  or  Plymouth  Brethren  there,  whatever  you 
like  to  call  her,  is  to  get  nine  !  Why  should  the  two 
shillings  that  would  have  gone  to  Soap-Bubble  if  any 
13 


one  'ad  drawn  him  go  to  the  first  'orse  rather  than  to 
the  second  ? 

WILLIAM 

Well,  I  can't  tell  you  for  the  moment  why,  but 


SARAH 

So  you  can't  tell  me  ? 

WILLIAM 

Not  for  the  moment.  Mr.  Randal  will  be  'ere  in  a 
minute. 

SARAH 

It's  a  cheat,  that's  what  it  is  !  You  don't  take  us  for 
a  lot  of  fools,  do  you  ?  Never  in  any  place  I  ever  was  in 
before  would  such  a  thing  be  allowed — the  footman 
going  out  with  the  kitchen-maid,  and  one  of  the 
Dissenting  lot,  too  ! 

ESTHER 

I'm  not  going  to  have  my  religion  insulted.  How 
dare  you  ! 

[She  starts  out  of  her  seatJ] 

WILLIAM  [Detaining  her] 
Never  mind  what  Sarah  says. 

SARAH 

Never  mind  what  I  says  !  A  thing  like  that  who  never 
was  in  a  situation  before.  No  doubt  taken  out  of 
some  'ouse — rescue  work,  I  think  they  calls  it. 

ESTHER 

She  shan't  insult  me  ;  no,  she  shan't ! 

H 


SARAH 

A  nice  sort  of  person  to  insult ! 

MRS.  LATCH 

Now,  look  you  'ere,  Sarah  Tucker,  I'm  not  going  to 
see  that  girl  aggravated  so  that  she  may  do  what  she 
shouldn't  do,  and  give  you  an  opportunity  of  going 
to  the  Missus  with  tales  about  her.  Come  away, 
Esther,  come  with  me  ;  let  them  go  on  betting  if  they 
will.     I  never  saw  no  good  come  of  it. 

WILLIAM 

That's  all  very  fine,  mother,  but  it  must  be  settled,  and 
we  'ave  to  divide  the  money. 

ESTHER 

I  don't  want  your  money  ;   I  wouldn't  take  it. 

WILLIAM 

You  must  take  your  money.  [Eftter  mr.  randal.] 
Ah,  there's  Mr.  Randal!  'Ere's  Sarah  quarrelling 
with  us  all,  saying  that  the  money  that  should  have 
gone  to  the  third  'orse  should  go  to  'er  and  not  to 
Esther.     Now,  to  which  'orse  should  it  go  ? 

RANDAL 

It  must  be  divided  between  the  two  of  them. 

SARAH 

Why  should  it  be  divided  ? 

WILLIAM 

Because  Mr.  Leopold  says  it.     Somebody  must  decide 
it.     Would  you  like  to  put  the  question  to  the  heditor 
of  the  Sportsman  F 
15 


SARAH 

No,  I  wouldn't. 

WILLIAM 

Then,  in  the  name  of  God,  tell  us  what  you  do  want ! 

SARAH 

I  want  my  money. 

WILLIAM 

Good  evening,  ladies !  I've  had  enough  of  you  for 
to-day  ;   I'm  going  to  finish  my  smoke  in  the  pantry. 

[Exit  WILLIAM.] 

MRS.  LATCH 

I  don't  know  what  we're  all  stopping  here  for  ;  one 
would  think  there  was  no  work  to  be  done  in  this 
'ouse.      There's  no  money  coming  to  us. 

l^She  goes  out  and  is  Jollowed  by  the  other  servants^ 
leaving  on    the   stage  only   randal,   Esther,  and 

SARAH.] 

RANDAL 

Well  now,  Sarah,  somebody  must  decide  this.  I  think 
it  ought  to  be  divided,  but  we  will  refer  it  to  the 
Sportsman  if  you  like.  And  here,  Esther,  is  your  seven 
shillings  that  you  won  on  the  first  horse.  The  two 
shillings  in  dispute  we'll  hold  over.  Won't  that  suit 
you  ? 

SARAH 

No,  it  won't.     I  want  my  money. 

\She  goes  to  the  door,] 
i6 


ESTHER 

I  don't  want  the  two  shillings,  Mr.  Leopold  ;    give 

them  to  'er. 

SARAH  [From  the  door] 
I  won't  touch  the  money  ! 

RANDAL  [Going  to  sarah] 

Come  now,  Sarah,  take  your  money. 

[sarah  goes  out.     Coming  back  to  esther] 
Has  William  told  you  he's  leaving  ? 

ESTHER 

Leaving !  Why  is  'e  leaving  ?  They  'aven't  sent 
him  away,  'ave  they  ?  [randal  shakes  his  head.] 
Then  it  is  something  to  do  with  Miss  Peggy  ? 

RANDAL 

Maybe  ;  but  if  you  see  him  before  he  leaves 

[Enter  william.] 

WILLIAM 

I've  been  looking  for  you  everywhere,  Mr.  Leopold. 

Just  a  word  in  the  pantry — ^will  you  ? 

RANDAL 

Certainly. 

ESTHER  [Detaining  william] 
William,  I  must  speak  to  you. 

[Exit  RANDAL.] 

WILLIAM 

Mr.  Leopold  ! 

17  B 


ESTHER 

You  can  speak  to  him  presently.  You  must  speak  to 
me  now.  There,  you've  got  your  bag.  You're  going. 
Why  are  you  going  ?  Why  are  you  leaving  ?  'Ave 
they  sent  you  away  ? 

WILLIAM 

No,  I  'aven't  been  sent  away  ;   I'm  leaving  service. 

ESTHER 

What  are  you  going  in  for  ? 

WILLIAM 

Betting  on  the  course,  most  likely.  Later  on  perhaps 
a  book  on  the  big  races.  If  I  get  on  I  shall  join  one  of 
the  big  clubs  in  London. 

ESTHER 

And  I  shan't  see  you  no  more  ? 

WILLIAM 

Don't  say  that,  Esther  ;  I'll  always  look  you  up  when- 
ever I  gets  the  chance.  Shan't  be  able  to  come  here, 
though. 

ESTHER 

Why  not  ? 

WILLIAM 

Well,  you  see,  I  shall  be  in  London  a  good  deal. 
Shall  have  to  attend  all  the  race  meetings ;  a  book- 
maker is  always  going  somewhere,  is  always  in  the 
train,  going  to  meetings  all  over  the  country.  Betting 
in  town  isn't  safe  ;  the  only  safe  betting  is  on  the 
course. 
i8 


ESTHER 

Why  can't  you  come  here  ? 

WILLIAM 

Because — ^well  .  .  .  because  of  the  Gaffer  .  .  .  leaving 
suddenly  like  this.  .  .  .  But  there  will  be  the  Brighton 
meeting.  You  will  come  to  meet  me  when  I'm  in 
Brighton  ;  and  there  are  other  meetings  in  Sussex 
where  we  may  meet,  not  far  from  here,  and  whenever 
I  get  time  you  may  be  sure 

ESTHER 

William,  you're  not  telling  me  the  truth.  When  you 
go  away  from  'ere  I  shall  never  see  you  no  more.  And 
you  used  to  say  once  that  you  always  wanted  to  see 
me.  We  was  going  to  be  married  once — why  have 
you  changed  like  this  ? 

WILLIAM 

I  'aven't  changed  ;  it  was  you  that  changed.  For  a 
month  you  didn't  as  much  as  bid  me  good  morning 
when  we  met  in  the  passage. 

ESTHER 

It  wasn't  for  so  long  as  that,  William. 

WILLIAM 

It  must  have  been  very  nearly  a  month,  and  it's  more 
than  a  month  since  we  went  out  together. 

ESTHER 

You  know  why  that  was. 

WILLIAM 

There  was  no  reason  why  you  should  pass  me  in  the 

passage. 

19 


ESTHER 

You  said  that  after  the  Leger  would  be  time  enough 
for  us  to  be  married. 

WILLIAM 

I  see  nothing  unreasonable  in  that. 

ESTHER 

Perhaps  not ;  I'm  sorry.  I  suppose  I  was  jealous. 
But  if  you  still  care  for  me,  that  should  make  no 
difference. 

WILLIAM  [Embarrassed] 

I'm  afraid  that's  just  what  it  'as  done. 

ESTHER 

It  shouldn't  'ave,  if  you  cared  for  me.  [They  stand 
looking  at  each  other]  'As  it  anything  to  do  with 
Miss  Peggy  ? 

WILLIAM 

For  goodness'  sake  don't  speak  so  loud  !  [Looking 
round.]    Well,  Esther,  I  must  say  good-bye  now. 

ESTHER 

Why  must  you  say  good-bye  ?  I'll  'ave  it  out.  Tell 
me  why  you  must  say  good-bye.  Are  you  going  to 
meet  her  ?  [Pause]  Are  you  ?  You're  not  married 
to  her,  are  you  ? 

WILLIAM 

Well,  Esther,  I—I 


ESTHER 

You  are  married  to  her  ? 

20 


WILLIAM 

Well,  what  could  I  do  ?     She  wanted  to  marry  me — 

ESTHER 

Oh,  vou  liar  !     You 


[Catching  sight  of  a  large,  sharp-pointed  knife 
lying  on  the  table,  she  snatches  it  up  and  rushes  at 
WILLIAM.  He  retreats  from  her.  Enter  mrs. 
LATCH  ;  she  catches  Esther's  arms,  Esther  throws 
the  knife  ;  it  strikes  the  wall,  falling  with  a  rattle 
on  a  meat-screen.  Escaping  from  mrs.  latch,  she 
rushes  to  secure  it,  hut  her  strength  gives  way  and 
she  falls  hack  in  a  deadfaint.^ 

MRS.  LATCH 

What  have  you  been  doing  to  the  girl  ? 

WILLIAM 

Nothing,  mother  ...  we  had  a  few  words,  that  was  all. 
She  said  I  shouldn't  go  out  with  Sarah. 

MRS.  LATCH 

That's  not  true.  I  can  read  the  lie  in  your  face. 
A  girl  doesn't  take  up  a  knife  unless  a  man  wellnigh 
drives  her  mad. 

WILLIAM 

That's  right ;  always  side  against  your  own  son.  If 
you  don't  believe  me,  get  what  you  can  out  of  her 
yourself. 

\Exit  WILLIAM.     ESTHER  opens  her  eyes  and  looks 

at  MRS.  LATCH  questioningly."] 

MRS.  LATCH 

Are  you  better  now,  dear  ? 

21 


ESTHER 

Yes ;    but — ^but  what [Recollecting  herself.']    Is 

he  gone  ?     Did  I  strike  him  ?     I  remember  that  I 

MRS.  LATCH 

You  didn't  hurt  him. 

ESTHER 

I  don't  want  to  see  him  again  ;  far  better  not.  I  was 
mad.     I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing. 

MRS.  LATCH 

You'll  tell  me  about  it  another  time,  dear. 
\Enter  mrs.  barfield.] 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Where  is  William,  cook  ?     I  want  to  tell  him  to  go 

to  the  station  to  meet Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 

The  girl  is  ill ! 

MRS.  LATCH 

She  was  taken  with  a  little  faintness ;  she  and  William 
were  having  a  few  words,  ma'am.  I'll  go  and  tell 
William  your  message.  You  want  him  to  go  to  meet 
the  master  ? 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Yes,  to  meet  the  six  o'clock. 

MRS.  LATCH 

Very  well,  ma'am.     You're  better  now,  dear  ? 

ESTHER  [Rising] 
Yes,  I'm  all  right  now. 

[Exit  MRS.  LATCH.] 
22 


MRS.  BARFIELD 

What  is  the  matter,  Esther  ?     You  look  quite  dazed. 

ESTHER 

Nothing,  ma'am,  nothing. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

But  something  is  the  matter.  My  maid  tells  me  that 
you  are  all  quarrelling  about  how  much  money  each 
should  get  out  of  the  sweepstakes.  I  hope,  Esther, 
you  haven't  been  tempted  to  waste  your  money  in 
betting  like  the  others. 

ESTHER 

I  didn't  risk  my  money,  ma'am  ;  it  was  against  my 
wish  that  William  put  a  shilling  into  the  sweepstakes 
for  me. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Was  it  about  that  you  were  quarrelling  ? 

ESTHER 

Not  about  that,  ma'am. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

But  you  were  quarrelling  ? 

ESTHER 

Not  exactly  quarrelling,  ma'am. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

But  cook  said  you  were  ;  and  I  see  you've  been  crying. 
What  is  it  all  about,  Esther  ?  I've  heard  of  your 
walking  out  with  William.  There's  no  harm  in  that 
23 


so    long    as    there's    an    understanding.     You    don't 
answer. 

ESTHER 

I'm  not  sure  that  I  rightly  understand  you,  ma'am. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

I  mean  that  if  you  and  William  are  going  to  be  married. 

ESTHER 

There  was  some  talk  of  our  being  married. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

But  he  has  thrown  you  over — is  that  it  ?     I'll  speak 
to  him. 

ESTHER 

I  don't  think,  ma'am,  you'll  ever  see  'im  again.      He 
had  just  come  to  tell  me  that  he  was  going. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Going  where  ? 

ESTHER 

Going  to  join  his  wife. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

His  wife  ! 

ESTHER 

He  married  Miss  Peggy — Poynter,  I  think  her  name 
is — the  young  lady  what  was  staying  here  last  month. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Married  Margaret  Poynter  !     Her  people  when  they 
24 


hear  of  this !  And  my  husband  !  But  it's  too  late 
to  do  anything  now.  So  that's  what  you  were  crying 
about  ?     You  liked  William  very  much  ? 

ESTHER 

Yes,  ma'am,  I  liked  him. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Well,  Esther,  I'm  sorry  for  you.  I  know  how  one 
takes  these  things  to  heart.  One  thinks  that  one  is 
always  going  to  be  miserable  ;  but  time  is  a  great 
healer.  The  wound  heals  though  the  scar  may  remain 
always. 

ESTHER 

I'm  afraid  that  time  will  only  make  things  worse  for 
me,  ma'am. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Esther !     Esther !     Am    I    to    understand [She 

looks  keenly  at  her,']    You  mean  that 

ESTHER 

Yes,  ma'am,  that's  wh^  it  is. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

I  thought  you  were  a  good  girl,  Esther. 

ESTHER 

So  did  I,  ma'am. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Did  you  tell  William  ? 

25 


ESTHER 

It  wasn't  till  three  weeks  ago  that  I  knew  for  certain, 
and  then  we  weren't  speaking  to  each  other  on  account 
of  Miss  Peggy.  I  was  waiting  for  a  chance  to  speak 
to  'im  alone.  Meanwhile  'e  got  married,  and  to-day 
when  'e  told  me  that  'e  was  going  away  with  his  wife 
I  was  that  overcome 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

But  you  should  have  told  him. 

ESTHER 

Yes,  ma'am  .  .  .  though  there  would  have  been  little 
use  then. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  Esther,  three  weeks  ago  ? 

ESTHER 

It  wouldn't  have  made  no  difference,  ma'am. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

And  this  has  been  going  on — ^how  long  ? 

ESTHER 

Three  or  four  months. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

So  for  three  or  four  months  you've  knelt  every  Sunday 
in  prayer  ;  you've  sat  by  me  for  twelve  Sundays 
learning  to  read  and  all  that  while 

ESTHER 

If  I'd  told  you,  you'd  'ave  sent  me  away,  and  I'd  only 
a  quarter's  wages,  and  should  have  starved  or  gone 
and  drowned  myself. 
26 


MRS.  BARFIELD 

I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  speak  like  that,  Esther. 

ESTHER 

It's  trouble  that  makes  me,  ma'am,  and  I  have  had  a 

great  deal. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Why  didn't  you  confide  in  me  ?  I  haven't  shown 
myself  cruel  to  you,  have  I  ? 

ESTHER 

No,  indeed,  ma'am,  you're  the  best  mistress  a  servant 
ever  had  ;  but 

MRS.  BARFIELD 
But  what  ? 

ESTHER 

Well,  ma'am,  it's  this  way.  .  .  I  'ated  being  deceitful, 
indeed  I  did.  But  I  can  no  longer  think  of  myself. 
There's  another  to  think  for  now. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Perhaps  you're  right,  Esther  ;  I  couldn't  have  kept 
you  on  account  of  the  bad  example  to  the  younger 
servants.  I'm  glad  you  didn't  tell  me,  Esther  ;  and, 
as  you  say,  there's  another  to  think  of  now.  I  hope 
you'll  never  neglect  your  child  ...  if  God  gives  it  to 
you  alive. 

ESTHER 

I  hope  not,  ma'am  ;   I  shall  try  to  do  my  best. 
27 


MRS.  BARFIELD 

My  poor  girl,  my  poor  girl !  you  don't  know  what 
trial  is  in  store  for  you.  A  girl  like  you  and  only 
twenty !  Oh,  it's  a  shame !  May  God  give  you 
courage  to  bear  up  in  your  adversity  ! 

ESTHER 

I  know  there's  a  rough  time  in  front  of  me,  but  I'll 
get  through  it  somehow.  I've  prayed  to  God  and 
He  will  see  me  through  it.  And  then  my  case  isn't 
so  bad  as  many  another.  I've  nearly  four  pounds. 
I  shall  get  on.  One  mustn't  be  down-'earted  ;  and  if 
you'll  stand  by  me  and  not  refuse  me  a  character 

MRS.  BARFIEM) 

Can  I  give  you  a  character  ?  You  were  tempted,  you 
were  led  into  temptation.  I  ought  to  have  watched 
over  you  better.  Mine  is  the  responsibility.  Tell  me 
it  wasn't  your  fault  ? 

ESTHER 

It's  always  a  woman's  fault,  ma'am  ;  but  he  should 
not  have  deserted  me  as  he  did,  that's  the  only  thing 
I  have  against  him.  The  rest  was  my  fault.  I 
shouldn't  'ave  drunk  the  second  glass  of  ale ;  besides, 
I  cared  for  him  ;  that  is  how  it  was,  I  thought  no 
harm  and  let  him  kiss  me.  He  used  to  take  me  out 
for  walks  on  the  hill  and  round  the  farm  ;  he  told  me 
he  loved  me  and  would  make  me  his  wife.  .  .  .  After- 
wards he  asked  me  to  wait  till  the  Leger  was  run,  and 
that  riled  me,  and  I  knew  'ow  wicked  I  had  been. 
I  wouldn't  go  out  with  him  or  speak  to  him  no  more, 
and  while  our  quarrel  was  going  on  Miss  Peggy  went 
after  him.  And  that's  'ow  I  got  left. 
28 


MRS.  BARFIELD 

You've  been  shamefully  treated,  my  poor  child. 
I  knew  nothing  of  this.  So  he  said  he  would  marry 
you  if  he  won  his  bet  on  the  Leger  ?  Oh,  that  betting  ! 
I  know  that  nothing  else  is  thought  of  here,  upstairs 
and  downstairs.     The  whole  place  is  poisoned  with 

it,  and  it's  the  fault  of I've  seen  it  all  my  life, 

nothing  else,  and  I've  seen  nothing  come  of  it  but  sin 
and  sorrow,  and  you're  not  the  first  victim.  But  the 
question  now  is  about  yourself.  How  much  money 
did  you  say  you  had  ? 

ESTHER 

Four  pounds. 

«> 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

How  much  do  you  reckon  will  see  you  through  it  ? 

ESTHER 

I  don't  know,  ma'am.  I  think  father  will  let  me  stay 
at  home  if  I  can  pay  my  way.  I  could  easily  manage 
on  seven  shillings  a  week.  When  my  time  comes  I 
shall  go  to  'ospital. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Twenty  weeks  at  seven  shillings  a  week — about  seven 
pounds. 

ESTHER 

But,  ma'am,  of  course  I  shouldn't  sit  at  home  idle  all 

the  time  ;    I  could  go  out  charing  and  make  an  odd 

'alf-crown  that  way. 

29 


MRS.  BARFIELD 

There  will  be  your  train  fare,  and  you'll  have  to  go  to 
a  room  near  the  hospital.  There  will  be  the  baby's 
clothes  to  buy.     If  I  give  you  eight  pounds,  Esther  ? 

ESTHER 

Ma'am,  you're  far  too  good  to  me. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

And  about  a  character.  It  seems  to  me  wrong  to 
refuse.  If  I  did,  you  might  never  get  a  place.  I'm 
not  certain  if  I  am  doing  right,  but  I  know  what  it 
means  to  refuse  to  give  a  servant  a  character.  I  can't 
take  the  responsibility  upon  myself  to  refuse. 

ESTHER 

Thank  you,  ma'am.  I  don't  deserve  such  treatment. 
I  know  I  don't. 


MRS.  BARFIELD 

Say  no  more,  Esther.  I  hope  the  Lord  will  give  you 
strength  to  bear  your  cross.  But,  Esther,  do  you  feel 
your  sin  ?  Can  you  truly,  honestly  say  before  God 
that  you  repent  ? 

ESTHER 

Yes,  I  think  I  can. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Come,  kneel  down  and  pray  to  God  to  give  you  strength 
in  the  future  to  stand  against  temptation.  [They 
kneel  down,  Esther  repeating  the  words  after  mrs. 
30 


BARFiELD.]  Dear  Lord,  Thou  knowest  all  things, 
knowest  how  Thy  servant  has  strayed  and  fallen  into 
sin.  But  Thou  hast  said  there  is  more  joy  in  Heaven 
for  one  sinner  that  repenteth  than  over  ninety  and 
nine  just  men.  Therefore,  Lord,  kneeling  here  before 
Thee,  we  pray  that  this  poor  girl,  who  repents  the 
evil  she  has  done,  may  be  strengthened  in  Thy  mercy 
to  stand  firm  against  temptation.  Forgive  her  sin 
even  as  Thou  forgavest  the  woman  of  Samaria.  Give 
her  strength  to  walk  uprightly  before  Thee,  and  give 
her  strength  to  bear  the  pain  and  suffering  that  lie 
before  her,  and  in  the  end  receive  her  into  Thy 
everlasting  Kingdom  for  Jesus  Christ's  sake.  Amen. 
[They  rise  from  their  knees.  Enter  ginger  and 
RANDAL.     They  are  followed  by  the  other  servants.^ 

GINGER 

Randal  and  myself  are  going  to  drink  to  the  health  of 
the  horse,  mother,  and  I'm  going  to  tell  him  how  the 
race  was  won.  All  the  servants  must  drink  to  his 
health.  There'll  be  grand  jollification  to-night  at  the 
Shoreham  Gardens.  Everybody  has  won  a  bit.  Won't 
you  have  a  glass  with  us  ?     And  Esther  ? 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Esther  is  leaving. 

GINGER 

Leaving  the  day  the  horse  wins !  I  don't  like  that, 
mother.     You're  not  sending  her  away  ? 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

She  wishes  to  leave. 

[mrs.  BARFIELD  and  ESTHER  go  towards  the  door,] 


GINGER 

Try  to  persuade  her  to  stay  on.  She'll  miss  the  ball 
at  the  Shoreham  Gardens.  [Exeunt  mrs.  barfield  and 
ESTHER.  Calling  after  them.^  You'll  find  the  Gover- 
nor in  the  library,  mother.  It's  a  pity  the  girl  is 
leaving  on  the  day  the  horse  wins.  You  know  what  I 
mean.     It  may  bring  us  ill-luck. 

RANDAL 

I  was  thinking  that  myself,  and  she  drew  Silver  Braid 
in  the  sweepstakes,  sir. 

GINGER 

I  must  get  mother  to  persuade  her  to  stay  on. 

RANDAL 

I'm  afraid  it  will  be  no  use,  sir  ;  I  think  it's  about 
William. 

GINGER 

You  mean  .  .  .  that  ? 

RANDAL 

I  wouldn't  go  as  far  as  that,  sir. 

GINGER 

Threw  her  over  ?  Well  .  .  .  I'm  sorry.  But  can't  you 
get  that  bottle  open  ?  I'm  dying  for  a  drink  ;  never 
wanted  one  in  all  my  life  as  badly  as  I  do  now.  I  shall 
be  able  to  tell  you  about  the  race  when  I've  had  a  glass 
of  champagne.  [Hhe  champagne  is  opened ;  ginger 
sits  on  the  edge  oj  the  table ^  randal  stands  on  the 
other  side^  leaning  against  itJ]  Here's  to  his  health  ! 
32 


[They  drink.]  The  most  extraordinary  race  on 
record. 

RANDAL 

I  thought  the  horse  would  have  won  easily,  sir. 

GINGER 

There  were  forty-five  of  them — the  largest  field  that 
ever  faced  a  starter.  You  can  imagine  what  a  job  it 
was  to  get  them  straight.  There  were  two  false 
starts.  If  there  had  been  a  third  it  would  have  been 
all  up  with  us  ;  the  boy  wouldn't  have  been  able  to 
stop  the  horse,  and  the  Gaffer  knew  the  danger.  He 
stood  watching,  never  taking  his  glasses  from  his  eyes. 
"  They're  off  !  "  he  said.  And  it  was  a  sight  !  I  shall 
never  forget  it — a  black  line  right  across  the  course. 
And  so  they  came  for  the  first  quarter  of  a  mile.  Just 
then  the  black  cap  and  jacket  came  to  the  front ; 
some  one  cried  out  "  Silver  Braid  wins  !  "  Never  saw 
anything  like  it  in  all  my  life  !  He  was  six  lengths 
ahead,  and  the  others  were  pulling  off.  "  Damn  the 
boy  !  he'll  win  by  twenty  lengths  !  "  said  the  Gaffer 
without  removing  his  glasses.  That  was  passing  the 
plantation,  within  a  few  yards  of  the  stand.  At  that 
moment  it  seemed  to  me  that  Silver  Braid  wasn't 
going  so  fast,  and  as  the  thought  went  through  my 
mind  the  Demon  looked  over  his  shoulder.  Seeing 
that  he  was  losing  ground,  he  took  up  the  whip  ;  but 
the  moment  he  struck  him,  the  horse  swerved  right 
across  the  course  under  the  stand,  running  like  a  rat 
from  underneath  the  whip.  The  Demon  threw  the 
whip  across  and  hit  him  along  the  nose.  I  thought  it 
was  all  up  with  us,  for,  seeing  what  was  going  on,  the 
Tinman,  who  was  on  Man-at-Arms,  sat  down  and 
began  riding.  I  felt  as  if  there  was  a  lump  of  ice 
33  c 


down  my  back,  and  I  don't  know  what  the  Gaffer  felt 
like.  I  never  saw  a  man  go  so  deadly  pale.  It  was 
the  work  of  a  moment,  but  that  moment  was  more 
than  a  year,  so  it  seemed  to  me.  Well,  about  half-way 
up  the  rails  the  Tinman  got  level  with  the  Demon  ; 
it  was  ten  to  one  that  Silver  Braid  would  turn  it  up, 
or  the  boy  wouldn't  have  the  strength  to  ride  out  so 
close  a  finish  as  it  was  bound  to  be.  The  Tinman  was 
riding  splendid,  getting  every  ounce,  and  something 
more,  out  of  Man-at-Arms.  The  Demon,  too  weak 
to  do  anything,  was  sitting  nearly  quite  still.  It 
looked  as  if  it  was  all  up  with  us,  but  somehow  Silver 
Braid  took  to  galloping  of  his  own  accord,  and,  having 
such  a  mighty  lot  in  hand,  he  won  on  the  post  by  a 
head — a  short  head.  I  never  felt  that  queer  in  my 
life,  and  the  Gaffer  was  no  better.  I  said  to  him  just 
before  the  numbers  went  up,  "  It's  all  right.  Governor, 
he's  just  done  it."  And  when  the  right  number  went 
up  I  thought  everything  was  on  the  dance,  going  for 
a  swim.  By  golly  !  it  was  a  near  thing.  Give  me 
another  glass.  Fill  out  one  for  yourself.  To-night 
will  be  a  great  night  at  the  Shoreham  Gardens.  I'm 
sorry  that  girl  is  leaving. 

RANDAL 

Do  you  think,  sir,  the  horse  will  win  the  Chesterfield  ? 

GINGER 

Win  !  Yes ;  but  we  shall  have  to  take  six  or  seven  to 
one,  and  lucky  if  we  get  that.  He'll  start  first 
favourite. 

RANDAL 

There  will  be  the  seven-pound  penalty. 

34 


GINGER 

That  won't  make  any  difference.     The  Gaffer  will  put 
up  a  stronger  hoy,  which  will  more  than  compensate  us 
for  the  extra  weight.     Come,  now,  Randal,  here's  to 
the  health  of  the  horse  ! 
[They  drink.'] 


[Curtain,] 


35 


Act  II 

Scene  :  Kitchen  in  a  cottage.  Door  at  hack,  Fireflace 
in  the  middle  oj  the  wall  at  hack,  A  dresser^  some 
chairs,  and  two  cradles.  One  is  empty, 
MRS.  SPIRES  is  on  the  stage  when  the  curtain  goes 
up.  She  goes  to  a  cradle,  takes  the  hahy  out,  looks  at 
it,  and  puts  it  hack,  A  knock  at  the  door.  She 
goes  to  the  door  and  opens  it.     Enter  carrie  roe. 

CARRIE 

Mrs.  Spires,  ain't  it  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Yes — ^at  your  service. 

CARRIE 

You  don't  seem  to  remember — Carrie  Roe  ?  I  brought 
you  my  baby  to  look  after  about  two  years  ago. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

So  you  did.  Well,  this  is  a  surprise  !  Won't  you 
come  in  ?  You're  not  in  trouble  again,  I  hope — 
though  indeed  I  don't  know  why  I  should  be  saying 
that,  for  the  cradles  is  all  empty,  and  I  'ave  no  one 
to  'elp  me  now  that  my  man's  gone.  I  only  gets  two 
shillings  a  week  from  the  parish. 

CARRIE 

No  second  children  for  me.     Caught  once,  but  not 
twice.       It    ain't    one   of    my    own    this  time    but 
another  woman's.     I  recommended  you  to  'er. 
37 


MRS.  SPIRES 

Well,  that  was  kind  of  you.  I  did  my  best  for  your 
little  one.  It  was  convulsions  that  took  it,  if  I 
remember  right.  But  first  of  all  tell  me  about  your- 
self. You're  looking  well ;  never  saw  you  looking 
better.  You've  been  in  a  situation  all  this  time,  I 
hope,  and  in  a  good  one  too.  I'm  sure,  any  one  would 
be  glad  to  get  you. 

CARRIE 

I  am  in  the  same  situation  still — ^parlourmaid  in  the 
Bayswater  Road. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Yes,  I  remember  you  told  me  you  left  at  the  right 
time.     No  one  knew  nothing  about  it. 

CARRIE 

No  one.  I  left  my  baby  with  you,  and  when  I  went 
back  they  were  looking  out  for  a  parlourmaid,  so  I 
just  walked  in — a  piece  of  luck,  wasn't  it  ?  Twenty- 
four  pounds  a  year. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

It  was  hindeed  ;  but  then  every  one  ain't  as  clever  as 
you.  Miss  Roe.  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  It's  a  bit  lone- 
some 'ere,  a  talk  with  you  will  do  me  good.  Can  I 
offer  you  anything  ?  A  cup  of  tea  ?  I  was  just 
a-going  to  'ave  one  myself. 

CARRIE 

Well,  you  see 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Ah,  yes,  I  remember,  you  was  telling  mc  about  a  lady 

you  was  kind  enough 

38 


CARRIE 

Yes,  she's  waiting  for  me  at  the  corner  of  the  street, 
and  she  has  her  baby  with  her. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

You  mustn't  keep  her  waiting,  [carrie  gets  up,] 
But  one  thing  afore  she  comes  in — is  there  money 
about  ?  Will  she  do  as  you  did  ?  You  gave  me  five 
pound,  'aving  trust  in  me  to  find  a  'ome  for  the  child. 

CARRIE 

Well,  Mrs.  Spires,  we  ain't  none  too  flush  either  of 
us  at  present,  and  I  am  'elping  her.  You  see,  I 
thought  that,  being  a  customer  of  yours,  you  would 
just  take  a  pound  for  the  first  month. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

You  'aven't  said  yet  'ow  old  the  baby  is. 

CARRIE 

Only  a  fortnight ;  but  my  friend  has  got  an  excellent 
place  offered  to  her — a  pound  a  week  as  wet-nurse.  If 
you'll  give  her  a  little  time  all  will  come  right. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

You  knows  I  never  take  children  under  a  month  old. 

CARRIE 

But  you  took  mine. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Well,  that  was  different ;  you  see,  I  'ad  confidence  in 

you. 

39 


CARRIE 

And  you  can  have  confidence  in  her.  You  must  do 
this,  Mrs.  Spires.  The  woman  is  a  particular  friend 
of  mine.  She  ain't  got  another  in  the  world,  and  I 
have  told  her  that  she  must  either  go  to  the  work'us 
or  into  this  situation.  Once  a  woman  has  been  to  the 
work'us  she's  done,  only  lodging-houses  for  her  after 
that.  [cA-RRiE  moves  towards  the  door.~\  I'll  go  and 
fetch  her.     Better  see  for  yourself. 

[She  goes  out.  mrs.  spires  goes  to  the  cradle,  begins 
rocking  it ;  she  hums  an  old  song.  Enter  carrie 
KOEjollowed  by  rachel  boyd.] 

RACHEL  l^Rocking  the  child  in  her  arms] 

So,  my  little  darling,  we  are  to  be  parted  for  many  a 

day — for  many  a  day. 

CARRIE 

Rachel,  you  won't  notice  the  time  passing. 

RACHEL 

Notice  the  time,  and  away  from  my  little  one  !  It's 
when  I'm  with  her  that  I  don't  heed  the  time. 

CARRIE 

You'll  have  another  to  look  after,  and  your  own  will 
be  doing  very  well  with  this  kind  woman,  Mrs.  Spires, 
who  will  give  it  every  attention. 

MRS.  SPIRES  {lo  CARRIE] 

Your  friend  is  one  of  them  that  sees  nothing  but  the 

child  at  the  breast. 

CARRIE 

I  was  like  that  myself ;   only,  you  see,  there  comes  the 

pinch,  one  has  to  get  one's  living. 

40 


MRS.  SPIRES 

And  a  pretty  tight  pinch  it  is  sometimes.  [To  rachel.] 
Do  you  want  me  to  look  after  your  baby  for  you  ? 

RACHEL 

I  suppose  I  do — ^what  else  ? 

[She  stands  staring,  and  then  walks  away   rocking 
her  babyJ\ 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Come  now,  what  are  we  all  standing  about  for  when 
we  can  be  sitting  down  ?  It  don't  cost  nothing, 
there's  plenty  of  chairs,  [mrs.  spires  and  carrie  sit 
down.]  You  don't  look  as  if  you  ought  to  have  left 
the  'orspital  so  soon. 

RACHEL  [Walking  up  and  down] 

They  turned  us  out  on  account  of  the  spring  cleaning. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

They  is  a  bit  sharp  about  that  spring  cleaning  ;    I 

think  I  'ave  'eard  of  it  afore. 

CARRIE 

But,  Rachel,  they  were  kind  to  you  in  the  'ospital ; 
didn't  you  say  so  yourself  ?  And  'asn't  the  matron 
got  you  a  place  as  wet-nurse  ?  Aren't  you  to  get  a 
pound  a  week  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES  [To  carrie] 

One  can  see  that  it's  her  first  baby.     If  anything  should 

'appen  to  it,  she  would  go  dotty  ;  she's  pretty  well  out 

of  her  mind  now.     [To  rachel.]     Will  you  let  me  see 

your  baby,  miss  ? 

41 


RACHEL 

There,  look  at  her,  ailing  a  little  now,  crying  since 

yesterday. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Lor',  what  a  mite  !     I'm  afraid  I  can't  take  'er. 

RACHEL  [Turning  suddenly] 

Why  can't  you  take  her  ?  Is  she  going  to  die  ?  If 
she  were  to  stay  with  me  she  might  live,  but  I  can't 
keep  her. 

CARRIE 

Of  course  she's  not  going  to  die,  Rachel.  Now,  Mrs. 
Spires,  you'll  take  her  baby.  What  is  the  woman  to 
do  ?  If  her  baby  lives  she'll  be  paying  you  five 
shillings  a  week  for  years  and  years  maybe.  The  baby 
don't  look  much  now,  but  worse-looking  ones  have 
lived.  In  this  world  nobody  can  tell  what's  going 
to  live  and  what's  going  to  die.  It  may  be  eighty 
years  hence  before  that  little  thing  with  a  head  no 
bigger  than  an  orange  is  laid  in  the  grave. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Maybe  ;    but  'ow  much  are  you  going  to  give  me  to 

look  after  it  meanwhile  ? 

CARRIE 

If  we  give  you  thirty  shillings  ?     We've  got  that. 
[cARRiE  pulls  out  the  money  and  shows  it  to  her,] 

MRS.  SPIRES  "^ 

No,  I  couldn't  do  it  for  that  money  ;  I  couldn't  under- 
take it. 
42 


RACHEL 

My  poor  little  darling,  only  a  fortnight  old  and  they're 
going  to  take  you  from  me  !  Mother  and  child  will 
never  see  each  other  again.  What  is  the  meaning  of 
it  all  ?  No  meaning  at  all.  Better  for  us  to  go  down 
to  the  Thames  together,  better  for  us ;  a  little  cold 
water  and  all  the  sorrow  is  over,  better  for  us.  What 
will  you  be  without  me,  my  poor  little  one  ?  No  one 
to  care  for  a  poor  baby  but  its  mother — its  poor  weak 
mother,  and  with  all  the  world  against  her  !  My  poor 
little  one,  poor  little  one — only  me  between  you  and 
the  bleakest  world  that  God  ever  made  ! 

MRS.  SPIRES 

She  looks  as  if  she  was  off  her  'ead. 

CARRIE 

Don't  mind  her.  Aren't  we  all  like  this  ?  Haven't 
you  a  boy  of  your  own  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Yes,  and  a  fine  boy  too,  three-and-twenty  years  of  age 
and  doing  well.     'E's  driving  a  bread-van  now. 

CARRIE 

That's  a  good  thing.  And  now,  Mrs.  Spires,  you'll 
look  after  this  woman's  baby  for  her  ?  She'll  give  you 
as  much  as  she  can.  She  has  no  more  now  than  thirty 
shillings,  that  is  all  that  is  left.  She's  giving  you  all 
she  has,  and  I'll  add  ten  shillings.  You  see,  I  am  the 
only  friend  she  has  in  the  world.  She's  a  bit  queer 
now,  but  she'll  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two.  The 
recklessness  wears  ^pff  ;  she'll  sober  down  ;  one  child 
is  the  same  as  another  at  the  breast.  She'll  be  getting 
a  pound  a  week,  and  I'll  see  that  another  sovereign 
comes  to  you  within  the  next  fortnight.  Now,  take 
43 


the  money — take  the  money.  [She  forces  the  money 
into  MRS.  spires'  hand.]  Now,  Rachel,  give  your  baby 
to  Mrs.  Spires ;  it  will  be  well  looked  after,  it  will 
indeed.  Come  now,  Mrs.  Spires,  show  us  the  cradle 
you're  going  to  put  it  in. 

RACHEL 

There's  another  baby  here. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Yes,  a  fine  boy,  doing  well,  a  little  ailing  'e  'as  been 
for  the  last  few  days,  but  'e's  doing  well.  'Is  mother 
is  earning  good  money  as  wet-nurse  in  Mayfair.  I  was 
hup  at  the  'ouse  this  afternoon  to  tell  'er  that  'er  baby 
wasn't  quite  so  well.  I  was  sitting  up  with  it  till  two 
last  night.  It's  always  better  to  let  the  mother  know. 
Now  you're  not  looking  very  strong  yourself.  I'll 
look  after  yours  as  I  look  after  this  one.  Go  to  your 
situation  and  leave  her  to  me. 

CARRIE 

Come,  Rachel,  don't  think  about  'er  any  more.  See 
'ow  comfortable  she  is,  how  well  she  sleeps  in  that 
nice  warm  cradle.     Come  away,  Rachel. 

[They  go  out,     mrs.  spires  chinks  the  money  in  her 

hand,  looking  at  Rachel's  baby,] 

MRS.  SPIRES 

A  peevish  little  thing,  not  much  life  in  it.    Two  pounds. 

If  I  were  sure  it  was  dying  I'd  'ave  in  the  doctor. 

[Goes  to  the  fireplace  and  takes  down  a  tin  oj  milk  ; 

'puts  some  into  a  jug.     Enter  Esther.] 

ESTHER 
Where's  my  baby  ? 
44 


MRS.  SPIRES 

Lor',  'ow  yer  did  frighten  me,  coming  like  that  into 
other  folk's  places  without  a  word  of  warning,  without 
as  much  as  knocking  at  the  door  ! 

ESTHER 

I  beg  your  pardon — but  the  message  you  left  'as  that 

frightened  me  ! 

MRS.  SPIRES 

'Ow  is  that  ?  Don't  you  think  'e's  safe  in  my  keeping  ? 
Well,  look  at  'im  yourself.  What  a  flurry  you're  in  ! 
'Ow  did  you  get  out  of  the  'ouse  ?  You  may  lose 
your  situation,  leaving  Mrs.  Rivers  like  that,  and  she 
paying  you  fifteen  shillings  a  week. 

ESTHER 

Why  did  you  come  to  tell  me  that  my  baby  is  ailing 
if  there's  nothing  the  matter  with  him  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES 

'E  'as  been  ailing  a  little. 

ESTHER 

Has  the  doctor  seen  him  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES 

The  doctor  ! 

[The  baby  wakesJ] 

ESTHER 

Ah,  there,  he  opens  his  eyes,  he  cries  !     He  wants  his 

mother. 

[She  takes  the  baby  out  of  the  cradle  and  opens  her 

dress.l 
45 


MRS.  SPIRES 

If  Mrs.  Rivers  saw  you  now  a-nursing  of  yer  baby  ? 

ESTHER 

I  shouldn't  care  if  she  did.  He's  thinner  than  when 
I  left  him.  Ten  days  without  me  'ave  made  a  lot 
of  difference  in  him. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Well,  yer  don't  hexpect  a  child  to  do  as  well  without 
its  mother  as  with  her.  But  tell  me,  'ow  did  yer 
get  out  ?     You  must  have  come  away  shortly  after  me. 

ESTHER 

I  wasn't  going  to  stop  there  and  my  child  ill. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

You  don't  mean  to  say  that  yer  'ave  gone  and  thrown 

hup  your  situation  ? 

[J  knock  at  the  door,     mrs.  spires  goes  to  it.     Enter 

MRS.  RIVERS.] 

MRS.  RIVERS 

Are  you  Mrs.  Spires  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Yes,  ma'am. 

MRS.  RIVERS 

Is  my  nurse  here  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Yes,  ma'am. 

MRS.  RIVERS 

Waters !     But  you're  nursing  your  child  ! 

46 


MRS.  SPIRES 
I  told  her,  ma'am- 


MRS.  RIVERS 

Why  did  you  run  out  of  my  house  without  my  per- 
mission ?  When  I  engaged  you  it  was  on  the  under- 
standing that  you  were  to  see  your  baby  only  once  a 
month. 

ESTHER 

Yes,  ma'am  ;  but  that  was  if  my  baby  was  well.     You 

see  he's  ailing,  and  you  can't  blame  me  for  running  to 

him. 

MRS.  RIVERS 

I  suppose  not.  But  you  are  coming  back  with 
me  ?  [ESTHER  does  not  answer.']  If  you  don't,  my  baby 
will  die. 

ESTHER 

I  don't  want  to  seem  'ard-'earted.     If  I  might  suckle 

the  two  of  them 

MRS.  RIVERS 

Oh,  I  couldn't  allow  that. 

ESTHER 

Well,  ma'am,  why  didn't  you  nurse  your  own  child  ? 

MRS.  RIVERS 

I  couldn't ;   it  wasn't  my  fault.     I  had  no  milk  when 

baby  was  born.     [Turning  to  mrs.  spires.]     Can't  you 

persuade  her  ?     It  was  you  that  came  upsetting  her  in 

my  house. 

47 


MRS.  SPIRES  [Droppng  a  curtsey] 

I'm  sure,  ma'am,  I'm  very  sorry,  but  you  see  I  'as  to 

be  very  careful ;   in  these  days  one  'as  to  be. 

MRS.  RIVERS 

What  am  I  to  do  ?  It  isn't  honourable  of  you, 
Waters.  You  undertook  to  rear  my  child.  Yours  is 
doing  nicely  with  Mrs.  Spires. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Hindeed  he  is,  ma'am. 

MRS.  RIVERS 

Next  time  I  engage  a  nurse  I'll  get  one  who  has  lost 

her  baby  and  then  there  will  be  no  bother. 

ESTHER 

I  was  wrong  to  go  to  you  at  all.  I've  been  thinking 
it  all  out ;  it  is  all  so  hidden  up  that  the  meaning 
ain't  clear  at  first.  The  'ousemaid  told  me  you  'ad  'ad 
two  wet-nurses  before  me  and  both  their  babies  died, 

MRS.  RIVERS  [Going  up  the  stage] 
I  must  go  to  the  hospital  and  see  if  they  can't  recom- 
mend me  another  girl.     It's  the  delay.     [Returning  to 
MRS.  SPIRES.]    Can  you  recommend  me  a  nurse  ?     Do 
you  know  any  one  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Well,  ma'am,  there  was  one  'ere  just  now,  but  she 

was  going  into  situation. 

MRS.  RIVERS 

What's  the  use  of  speaking  of  her,  then  ?     \To  Esther.] 
If  you  don't  come  back  I  shan't  pay  you  a  shilling. 
You  have  no  money. 
48 


ESTHER 

I'll  try  to  manage  without.  I  shall  take  my  baby  to 
the  work'us.  However  bad  the  living  may  be  there, 
he'll  be  with  his  mother. 

MRS.  RIVERS 

To-morrow  you'll  come  to  me  and  apologise.     In  the 

meantime  my  baby  wants  you.     Are  you  going  to  her  ? 

ESTHER 

I  must  stay  with  baby,  ma'am. 

MRS.  RIVERS 

So  you  shall — and  you'd  better  send  for  your  box.  If 
you  don't,  I  shall  have  it  thrown  into  the  street. 

ESTHER 

I  dare  say  you'd  be  cruel  enough  to  do  that,  if  the  law 

allows  you — only  be  careful  it  do. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Let  me  open  the  door  for  you,  ma'am.  I'll  try  to 
persuade  her. 

MRS.  RIVERS 

A  sovereign  for  you  if  you  send  her  back  to  me  this 

evening. 

[Exit  MRS.  RIVERS.] 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Well,  you  'ave  been  going  in  for  some  rapid  talk,  you 

'ave ;  going  to  the  work'us.     You  won't  care  for  that 

institution. 

49  D 


ESTHER 

There,  the  child  is  going  asleep  now.  I  think  he's 
had  enough  of  the  breast. 

[She  puts  him  hack  in  the  cradle.'] 

MRS.  SPIRES 

You  haven't  answered  me.  Do  you  really  mean  that 
you're  going  to  the  work'us  ?  What  are  you  going  to 
do  with  that  'ere  box  ?  You'll  find  it  on  the  pavement. 
And  who's  agoing  to  fetch  it  for  you  ?  And  where 
are  you  going  to  put  it  ? 

ESTHER 

I  think  he'll  sleep  now.     How  well  he  sleeps  ! 

MRS.  SPIRES 

The  girl's  gone  dotty  over  that  kid  of  'ers.  Look  'ere, 
are  you  going  to  tell  me  what's  to  become  of  that  box  ? 
I've  asked  you  three  times  within  the  last  two  minutes. 

ESTHER  [Waking  Jrom  her  reverie] 
I  don't  know  what's  to  become  of  me. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Take  my  advice  and  go  straight  back  to  her  and  ask 
her  to  overlook  it  this  once. 

ESTHER 

She'll  never  take  me  back. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Yes,  she  will;  yer  suits  the  child,  and  that's  all  they 

thinks  of. 

5c 


ESTHER 

I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  me  and  my  baby. 

MRS.  SPIRES. 

No  more  don't  I.  Yer  can't  always  stop  in  the  work'us, 
and  a  baby  will  be  a  'eavy  drag  on  yer.  Can't  yer  lay 
'ands  on  his  father  some'ow  ? 

ESTHER 

I'm  all  alone.     I  don't  know  'ow  I'm  ever  going  to 

pull  through. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Not  with  that  child  yer  won't — it  ain't  possible.  You 
girls  is  all  alike,  yer  thinks  of  nothing  but  yer  babies 
for  the  first  few  weeks,  then  yer  tires  of  them,  the  drag 
on  yer  is  that  'eavy — I  knows  yer — and  then  yer  begins 
to  wish  they  'ad  never  been  born,  or  yer  wishes  they 
'ad  died  afore  they  knew  they  was  alive.  I  don't  say 
I'm  not  often  sorry  for  them,  poor  little  dears,  but 
they  takes  less  notice  than  you  think  for,  and  they  is 
better  out  of  the  way  ;  they  really  is.  It  saves  a  lot 
of  trouble  hereafter.  I  often  do  think  that  to  neglect 
them,  to  let  them  go  off  quiet,  and  I'd  be  their  best 
friend.  Not  wilful  neglect,  yer  know,  but  what  is  a 
woman  to  do  with  ten  or  a  dozen  ?  And  I  often  has 
as  many  as  that.  I'm  sure  they'd  thank  me  for  it. 
Do  yer  'ear  what  I'm  saying  ? 

ESTHER 
Yes,  I  hear. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

There's  another  girl  I  know,  a  servant  like  yourself. 

She's  out  nursing  a  lady's  child,  getting  fifteen  shillings 

51 


a  week  just  as  you  was.  She  always  brings  her  baby 
to  me — delicate  little  things  they  is,  that  only  live  a 
week  or  two,  but  if  they  lived  they'd  be  the  ruin  of 
their  poor  mother. 

ESTHER 

Don't  she  care  for  her  babies  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES 

She  do,  but  she's  a  sensible  girl ;  and  where  would 
she  be  now  if  they  'ad  all  lived  ?  Four  of  them  there 
were,  and  instead  of  them  costing  'er  money  they 
brings  'er  in  money.  She's  never  failed  yet  to  suit 
'erself  in  a  situation  as  wet-nurse. 

ESTHER 

And  they  all  died  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Yes,  they  all  died,  and  she  thanked  me  for  it. 

ESTHER 

Thanked  you  for  it  ?     What  do  you  mean  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES 

'Ow  is  girls  the  likes  of  you  and  'er  to  bring  up  a  child 
on  yer  bits  of  wages,  slaving  sixteen  hours  a  day  in  a 
lodging-'ouse  ?  For  'ow  much  do  you  expect  to  get  ? 
Fourteen  pounds  ?  Bring  up  a  child  on  fourteen 
pounds  a  year  !  I'll  tell  yer  it  ain't  to  be  done.  This 
one  don't  look  as  if  it  were  much  longer  for  this  world, 
do  it  ?  [She  takes  the  child  and  shows  it  to  Esther.] 
It  goes  to  my  'eart,  it  do  indeed,  but  Lor',  it  is  the 
best  that  could  happen  to  'em.  Who's  to  care  for 
'em  ?  And  there's  'undreds  and  'undreds  of  'em  ; 
52 


ay,  thousands  and  thousands  every  year — and  they  all 
dies  like  the  early  shoots.  It's  'ard,  very  'ard,  poor 
little  dears,  but  they  is  best  out  of  the  way,  they  is 
only  an  expense  and  a  disgrace. 

[She  fours  some  milk  into  a  hahy^s  bottle  and  takes 

down  a  jug  oj  water  jrom  the  dresser i\ 

ESTHER 

But  that's  cold  water  ;  it  will  give  the  baby  gripes  for 
certain. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

I've  no  'ot  water  ready,  so  I'll  let  the  bottle  stand 
afore  the  fire,  that'll  do  as  well.  It  wouldn't  surprise 
me  a  bit  if  the  poor  little  dear  died  before  morning,  it 
do  look  that  poorly.  Well  now,  what  are  you  ;^oing 
to  do  ?  Are  you  going  to  leave  your  baby  with  me. 
like  a  sensible  girl,  and  go  back  to  your  situation  where 
you'll  be  getting  a  pound  a  week  ? 

ESTHER 

My  poor  baby  ! 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Now,  that's  sensible,  [esther  begins  to  cry.^  What 
are  you  crying  about  ?  Well,  'ave  it  out,  one's  always 
better  for  a  good  cry,  I'm  thinking ;  as  my  'usband 
used  to  say,  after  a  few  tears  a  woman  sees  things 
clearer  some'ow. 

ESTHER 

I  don't  even  know  where  I'll  sleep  to-night ;  I've  only 

thruppence  and  not  a  friend  in  the  world. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Now  look  'ere,  if  you  listen  to  reason  I'll  talk  to  you. 
53 


You  mustn't  look  upon  me  as  a  henemy  ;  I've  been  a 
good  friend  to  many  a  poor  girl  like  you  afore  now, 
and  I'll  be  one  to  you  if  you're  sensible-like.  I'll  do 
for  you  what  I'm  doing  for  the  other  girl.  Give  me 
five  pounds 

ESTHER 

Five  pounds  !     I've  only  a  few  pence. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

'Ear  me  out.  Go  back  to  yer  situation — she'll  take 
yer  back,  yer  suits  the  child,  that's  all  she  cares  about — 
and  ask  her  for  an  advance  of  five  pounds.  She'll  give 
it  when  she  'ears  it  is  to  get  rid  of  yer  child — they  'ates 
their  nurses  to  be  a-hankering  after  their  own,  they 
likes  them  to  be  forgotten  like  ;  they  asks  if  the  child 
is  dead  very  often  and  won't  engage  them  if  it  isn't. 
So,  believe  me,  she'll  give  yer  the  money  when  yer 
tells  'er  that  it  is  to  give  the  child  to  some  one  who 
wants  to  adopt  it.     That's  what  you  'as  to  say. 

ESTHER 

But  who  wants  to  adopt  it  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES  [PFM  a  wink] 

That's  only  what  we  says.  Come,  I'll  take  the  child 
off  yer  hands  for  ever  for  five  pounds  ;  and  if  yer  likes 
to  go  out  again  as  wet-nurse,  I'll  take  the  second  off 
yer  'ands  too,  and  at  the  same  price. 

ESTHER  [Taking  the  child  Jrom  the  cradle  and  holding 

him  in  her  arms] 
You  wicked  woman  !     Oh,  this  is  awful ! 

\She  goes  towards  the  door,     mrs.  spires  gets  between 

her  and  it,] 
54 


MRS.  SPIRES 

'Ere,  'old  'ard  !  What  do  you  mean  by  talking  to 
me  like  that  ?  And  because  I  offered  to  find  some  one 
who  would  adopt  yer  child. 

ESTHER 

You  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  Ever  since  I've  been  in 
your  house  you've  been  trying  to  get  me  to  give  you 
up  my  child  to  murder  as  you're  murdering  this  poor 
little  innocent  in  the  cradle. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

It's  a  lie  !  but  I  don't  want  no  hargument  with  yer. 
Pay  me  what  yer  owes  me  and  take  yerself  hoff.  I 
want  no  more  of  yer.     Do  you  'ear  ? 

ESTHER 

I  paid  you  what  I  owe  you  ;  you've  'ad  more  than 
your  due.  Mrs.  Rivers  gave  you  ten  shillings  for  a 
doctor  which  you  didn't  send  for.     Let  me  go. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Yes,  when  yer  pays  me.  [Knock  at  the  door.]  Who's 
that  ?     Who's  that  ? 

FRED  PARSONS  [Outside] 
Rent  day,  Mrs.  Spires. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Oh,  it's  you,  Mr.  Parsons  !  I'm  busy  tailing  with  a 
lady,  and  if  it  would  be  the  same  to  you  to  come  round 

in  five  minutes 

55 


FRED  PARSONS 

You  said  that  last  week,  and  when  I  came  back  you 

was  out,  and  I  got  no  rent. 

MRS.  SPIRES 
Oh,  did  I  ? 

ESTHER 

Don't  go  away,  sir.     Sir,  sir,  she  wants  to  take  my 

baby  from  me. 

MRS.  SPIRES  [Her  hand  on  Esther's  mouth] 

Will   you   stop  yer   clatter  ?     'E's  just  one  of  those 

fellows  who  would  bring  the  perlice  down  upon  us. 

ESTHER 

Let  me  go. 
[mrs.  spires  keeps  her  hand  on  Esther's  mouth.] 

FRED  PARSONS 

You'd  better  open,  Mrs.  Spires.     Who  is  it  I  hear  you 
talking  to  ?     And  whose  baby  ? 

ESTHER 

Mine. 

MRS.  SPIRES  [To  esther] 

Will  you  'old  yer  tongue  !     'E's  one  of  them  religious 

lot. 

ESTHER 
Let  me  go. 

[mrs.  spires  opens  the  door.    Enter  fred  parsons.] 
$6 


FRED  PARSONS 

Now,  what's  all  this  about  ?  The  door  fastened  and 
two  weeks'  rent  due. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

It  'as  nothing  to  do  with  the  rent ;   the  rent  is  right 

enough. 

FRED  PARSONS 

And  this  young  woman  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES 

We  was  talking  about  some  money  she  owes  me  for 
looking  after  her  baby. 

FRED  PARSONS 

I  didn't  know  you  took  children  in  ;   I  thought  it  was 

washing.  , 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Well,  you  see,  Mr.  Parsons,  in  these  'ard  times  one  'as 
to  turn  one's  'and  to  whatever  comes  along  ;  so  now 
and  again  I  takes  one  in,  though  for  all  the  money 
they  brings  and  the  trouble  they  causes  they  ain't 
worth  it.  This  young  woman  owes  me  money  for 
'er's.  We  was  'aving  a  few  words  about  it,  but  I 
dare  say  she'll  pay  me  what  she  owes,  when  she  goes 
into  situation. 

ESTHER 

No,  I  ain't  going  back  to  Mrs.  Rivers,  whatever  you 
says.     So  let's  part  on  that.     And  you,  sir,  will  you 
point  out  the  way  to  the  work'us  to  me  ? 
57 


FRED  PARSONS 

The  work'us  you'll  find  a  hard  home  for  you  and  your 
child,  and  if  you  have  any  friends 

ESTHER 

I  'ave  no  friends,  sir. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

She's  leaving  a  good  situation  at  fifteen  shillings  a  week. 

ESTHER 

If  you'll  point  out  the  way  to  the  work'us  to  me,  sir. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Yes,  Mr.  Parsons,  if  you'll  just  point  out  the  way  to  'er. 

FRED  PARSONS 

But  I  must  know  which  parish  you  come  from. 

ESTHER 

I've  been  in  situation  as  wet-nurse  for  a  fortnight,  but 
I  come  from  Lambeth,  sir. 

FRED  PARSONS 

Lambeth — why  that  is  miles  and  miles  from  'ere. 
You'll  never  find  the  way.  If  you  come  along  with 
me Now,  Mrs.  Spires,  if  you'll  give  me  the  rent. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Eight  and  sixpence  is  what's  owing,  isn't  it  ?  [She 
searches  herselj  and  seems  unable  to  find  her  money,^ 
Now,  it  just  comes  to  me  that  I  wrapped  it  up  in  a  bit 
of  newspaper  and  left  it  on  the  corner  of  the  chest  of 

drawers  upstairs.     If  one  of  you \She  looks  at 

ESTHER.]  If  you,  Mr.  Parsons,  would  be  kind  enough 
58 


to  step  upstairs — I've  been  suffering  all  the  week 
from  sciatica,  and  them  stairs  is  my  worst  trial.  Why, 
every  morning  I  sits  'ere,  sometimes  till  near  midnight, 
afraid  to  face  them. 

FRED  PARSONS 

It  was  last  Michaelmas,  Mrs.  Spires,  you  was  laid  up 
for  so  many  weeks  ? 

MRS.  SPIRES  [While  talking  she  searches  for  matches 

and  lights  a  candle'] 
Your  'eart  must  be  wonderful  kind  that  you  should 
remember  all  this  while  a  poor  woman's  suffering. 

FRED  PARSONS 

Well,  you  see,  my  mother  is  a  great  sufferer.  There 
are  weeks  and  weeks  at  a  time  when  she  doesn't  get 
downstairs. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Fellow-feeling,  sir.  Now,  'ere's  the  candle,  and 
remember  you'll  find  the  money  on  the  left  'and 
corner.  There's  no  missing  it,  eight  and  sixpence 
wrapped  up  in  a  bit  of  newspaper — two  'alf-crowns, 
one  two-shilling-piece,  one  shilling,  and  sixpence  in 
coppers,  [fred  goes  upstairs.  To  Esther.]  Now's 
yer  time  ;  off  yer  goes  to  Lambeth  as  'ard  as  yer  legs 
can  carry  you.  'E's  one  of  them  religious  lot,  and  if 
'e  'ears  that  you're  not  married  'e'U  'ave  the  perlice 
after  you,  and  as  likes  as  not  you'll  be  charged  for 
street-walking. 

ESTHER 

He  spoke  kindly  enough  and  told  me  that  he  would 
put  me  on  the  right   road   again.      I  think  I'll  wait 
here. 
59 


MRS.  SPIRES 

Yer  thinks  you'll  wait  'ere,  do  you  ?  In  my  'ouse 
after  'earing  that  we  don't  want  none  of  yer  sort  about  ? 
Now,  away  you  go,  and  don't  loiter  on  the  way,  or 
else  you  may  get  run  in  for  vagrancy.  The  perlice  are 
pretty  'ard  on  the  likes  of  you.  [She  throws  the  door 
open,^  Stir  yerself,  the  door  is  open  now,  and  you 
was  calling  loud  enough  for  it  to  be  opened. 

[She  tries  to  push  esther  out,     fred  appears  at  the 

top  of  the  stairs.'] 

FRED  PARSONS 

There's  nothing  on  the  chest  of  drawers  that  I  can 
see.  You'd  better  try  to  find  the  money  yourself,  and 
settle  with  me. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

If  you  try  again — perhaps  on  the  chimneypiece. 

FRED  PARSONS  {Coming  downstairs'] 

Mrs.  Spires,  this  won't  do.     You  has  the  money  or  you 

hasn't. 

MRS.  SPIRES  {Searches  herself  again] 

Why,  Lor' !  it's  'ere.     How  stoopid  of  me !     I'm  that 

stoopid  to-day  with  the  sciatica  ! 

{She  counts  the  money,     fred  takes  it,] 

FRED  PARSONS 

Now  we're  clear  for  another  week.  {He  writes  a  receipt^ 
and  after  writing  it  stands  looking  at  Esther.]  You  said 
Lambeth,  didn't  you  ?  And  I  suppose  you  have  no 
money,  not  enough  for  a  bus  fare  ?  Mrs.  Spires  says 
that  you  owe  her  money. 
60 


MRS.  SPIRES 

She  do,  and  that's  why  I  don't  want  'er  to  leave  the 
'ouse  ;  the  baby  is  my  only  security  against  the  likes 
of  'er. 

FRED  PARSONS 

But  you  can't  keep  her  baby  from  'er  as  security  ? 
There  are  a  good  many  cradles  about  here. 

MRS.  SPIRES 

A  good  many  empty  ones.  But  come  now,  what 
business  is  this  of  yours  ?  You've  got  the  rent,  'aven't 
you  ?  [fred  looks  into  a  cradle.']  That's  the  only  one, 
a  weak  little  thing  that  was  brought  in  this  afternoon. 
I  does  my  best  with  them,  and  would  'ave  made  a 
fine  child  of  this  one  [^pointing  to  Esther's  baby]  if  it 
had  been  left  with  me.  But  what  chance  do  I  get 
when  they  brings  them  ailing  ?  Poor  little  hangel ! 
not  long  for  this  world.  A  poor  'ome  for  'er  if  she 
lives ;  a  better  one  awaits  'er  in  'eaven — if  she  was 
baptized.  Poor  little  one,  born  in  original  sin  ;  not 
like  you  and  me,  sir,  who  was  born  in  wedlock.  [She 
hands  him  a  jug.]     If  you'd  like  to  baptize  her,  sir  ? 

FRED  PARSONS 

Baptize  !  Oh,  sprinkle  her,  you  mean.  That  is  not 
the  way  with  the  Lord's  people.  We  must  wait  until 
it  is  a  symbol  of  living  faith  in  the  Lord. 

ESTHER 

You  belong  to  the  Brethren,  sir,  I  can  see  that. 

FRED  PARSONS 

Are  you  a  sister  ? 


ESTHER 

Yes,  when  at  Barnstaple,  before  we  came  up  to  London. 
My  mother  was  married  again,  and  died  in  her  confine- 
ment when  I  was  in  'ospital. 

FRED  PARSONS 

You  can  tell  me  your  story  as  we  go  along. 

\Jhey  go  out  together^  Jorgetjul  oj  mrs.  spires.] 

MRS.  SPIRES 

Well,  she's  picked  up  another  cove,  and  if  I  was  only 
sure  she  wouldn't  go  on  talking  about  what  she  'eard 

'ere But  what  can  she  say  against  me  ?     It  was 

only  talking.  \^he  looks  at  the  cradle^  Poor  little 
thing,  she  wants  'er  bottle.  \^he  is  about  to  take  the 
cold  watery  hut  stops.']  They  didn't  think  it  worth  their 
while  to  baptize  'er.  If  I  'ad  the  words  right  I'd  do 
it  myself.  '^  I  baptize  thee  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  " 
— I  don't  know  no  more.  I  think  I'll  go  upstairs  and 
fetch  the  book.  \0n  the  stairs  she  pauses,]  And  she's 
gone  away  without  paying  me  when  she  might  'ave  'ad 
it  out  of  that  cove.  Oh,  them  religious  swine  are  the 
'ard-'earted  lot ! 


[Curtain.] 


62 


Act  III 

Scene  ;    The  living-room  in  mrs.  lewis's  cottage,     mrs. 
LEWIS  is  sewing  at  the  window.     Enter  esther. 

ESTHER 

I  couldn't  take  my  eyes  off  you  as  I  came  through  the 
gate  ;    you  looked  that  'appy  sewing  in  the  sunlight. 
'Ow  are  you,  dear  ? 
\^he  kisses  her^ 

MRS.  LEWIS 

As  well  as  can  be  expected.  Just  mending  Jackie's 
shirt,  letting  it  out.  The  boy  grows  that  fast  he'll  be 
as  tall  as  his  father. 

ESTHER  [Picking  up  a  pair  oj  trousers'] 

These'U  'ardly  hold  the  stitches  any  more,  but  'e'U 

have  to  do  the  best  he  can.     All  my  wages  is  gone  for 

this  quarter,  and  next  quarter  I'll  'ave  to  buy  a  new 

gown.     I'm  ashamed  to  be  seen  in  this  old  one  any 

longer. 

MRS.  LEWIS 

You'll  want  some  new  dresses  worse  than  ever  now 
that  Mr.  Parsons  'as  come  along.  When  is  it  to  be, 
Esther  ? 

ESTHER 

It  should  be  soon  now.     'E's  got  the  place  up  at  the 

Mansions. 


MRS.  LEWIS 
I'r 

63 


I'm  glad  of  it. 


ESTHER 

So  am  I,  for  the  collecting  of  rents  up  them  lanes  was 
'eartrending  at  times,  and  I've  known  him  pay  the 
money  himself  sooner  than  have  the  poor  folk  turned 
into  the  street. 

MRS.  LEWIS 

Them  that  rounded  on  him  will  learn  what  they  have 
lost  when  'e's  gone.  A  kind-'earted  man  as  ever  I 
seed,  and  wonderful  fond  of  Jackie — one  who  would 
be  as  good  as  a  father  to  'im. 

ESTHER 

You  think  so  ?  Perhaps  it  wasn't  right  to  bring 
William  up  'ere.  A  sort  of  feeling  came  over  me  when 
I  saw  'ow  Jackie  and  his  father  took  to  each  other. 

MRS.  LEWIS 

Law,  Esther  !  you're  always  looking  round  the  corner 
thinking  that  somebody  is  coming  along  to  trip  you 
up.     Where  'ave  you  left  him  ? 

ESTHER 
Who  ? 

MRS.  LEWIS 
Mr.  Parsons. 

ESTHER 

Looking  for  Jackie ;  he  expects  to  find  'im  up  at  the 
styes.  You  must  stop  'im  from  going  to  see  the  pigs  ; 
it's  there  he  mucks  'imself,  and  I  did  want  him  clean 
to-day  and  ready  to  go  with  us.  'E's  been  looking 
64 


forward  to  this  little  treat  since  Easter,  and  Miss  Rice 
was  a-hurrying  me  out  of  the  house,  she  thinks  that 
much  of  the  child ;  she  wouldn't  'ave  him  miss  an 
hour  of  it. 

MRS.  LEWIS 

The  first  of  the  good  sort  it  'as  been  your  luck  to  run 
across. 

ESTHER 

I  should  never  'ave  pulled  through  if  it  'adn't  been 
for  her  'elp.  I've  been  through  a  'eartless  lot ;  but 
we  must  take  the  rough  with  the  smooth,  I  suppose. 

MRS.  LEWIS 

Only  there's  generally  about  twice  as  much  rough  as 
there's  smooth. 

ESTHER 

So  there  is.  But  what's  keeping  Fred  this  long  time  ? 
They  ought  to  be  back  afore  this. 

MRS.  LEWIS 

'E  won't  find  him  up  at  the  styes  to-day ;  'e's  gone 
into  Peckham. 

ESTHER 

By  'imself  ?  'E'U  like  as  not  be  runned  over ;  the 
boy  ain't  used  to  the  streets. 

MRS.  LEWIS 

Well,  it's  this  way.  Mr.  Latch  called  'ere  this  morn- 
ing  

65  E 


ESTHER 

Don't  say  you  let  Jackie  out  with  him  ! 

MRS.  LEWIS 

'E  said  'e  would  buy  the  boy  a  new  pair  of  trousers, 

and  knowing  you  was  that  'ard  up 

ESTHER 

It's  wonderful  what  a  bit  of  money  will  do.  The 
moment  'e  set  foot  in  this  cottage  you  was  curtseying 
to  'im,  'anding  him  chairs.  I  didn't  much  like  it,  but 
I  didn't  think  you  would  round  on  me  in  this  way. 
[Turning  suddenly  on  her,]  Who  told  you  to  let  him 
'ave  the  child  ?  Who  pays  you  for  his  keep  ?  Answer 
me  that.     'Ow  much  did  he  give  you  ?     A  new  dress  ? 

MRS.  LEWIS 

Oh,  Esther,  I  never  thought  you'd  accuse  me  of  being 
bribed,  after  all  these  years  too  ! 
[She  puts  her  apron  to  her  eyes,"] 

ESTHER 

Is  'e  coming  back  ? 

MRS.  LEWIS 

In  course  he  is,  and  will  bring  back  Jackie  with  'im. 

ESTHER 

And  Fred  Parsons  'ere  to  meet  'im  ! 

MRS.  LEWIS 

That  don't  matter  ;  you've  told  'im  you  met  Jackie's 

father. 

66 


ESTHER 

What  was  the  use  of  telling  him  ?  You  'eard  all  that 
was  said  between  me  and  William  last  week,  and  his 
promise  that  'e  wouldn't  'ang  about  after  the  child. 
And  now  he  comes  behind  my  back  and  takes  him  to 
Peckham. 

MRS.  LEWIS 

Only  to  buy  him  a  suit  of  clothes. 

ESTHER 

There's  to  be  no  truck  betwen  me  and  'im  ;  the  boy 
is  mine. 

[Enter  fred  parsons.] 

FRED 

Well,  he  ain't  among  the  piggeries  to-day.  But  now, 
Esther,  what's  'appened  ? 

ESTHER 
Oh,  nothing. 

FRED 

And  you,  Catherine — all  right  ?  [fred  and  mrs. 
LEWIS  stand  looking  at  Esther.]  Ain't  she  a  funny 
girl  ?  One  moment  all  sunshine  and  the  next  like  a 
wet  week. 

ESTHER  [Moving  towards  the  door] 
I'm  going  'ome. 

FRED 

What  about  Jackie's  treat  ? 
67 


ESTHER 

There  ain't  no  treat  for  'im  to-day — nor  for  me  neither. 

FRED 

Nor  for  me  either.  Now,  Esther,  what  'ave  I  done 
to  you  ? 

ESTHER  [Coming  backjrom  the  door] 

You  may  as  well  hear  the  truth  :   Jackie  'as  gone  out 

with  his  father. 

FRED 

So  William  'as  come  back  ?  And  you  never  said 
nothing  ? 

ESTHER 

What  was  the  use  in  telling  you,  when  I  thought  he 
was  gone  clear  away  again  ?  Promises  don't  mean  no 
more  to  that  man  now  than  they  ever  did. 

FRED 

Then  he  knows  about  Jackie  ? 

ESTHER 

It  slipped  out  when  he  bumped  the  jug  out  of  my 
hand  in  the  Avondale  Road. 

FRED 

Bumped  the  jug  out  of  your  'and  ? 

ESTHER 

Yes,  as  I  was  a-going  to  fetch  Miss  Rice's  beer.     'E 

knocked  against  me,  and  I  let  the  jug  fall.     "  Well, 

Esther,"  'e  says,  "  is  it  you  ?     I'm  glad  to  see  you 

again."     "  Are   you,  straight  ?  "   says  I  to  'im,  "  so 

68 


much  for  that.  Now  your  way  and  mine  ain't  the 
same.  I  wish  you  good  evening."  But  when  I  came 
out  again  with  a  fresh  jug  'e  was  waiting  in  the  street, 
and  followed  me  into  the  Greyhound,  and  when 
he  put  down  'is  money  to  pay  for  the  beer  I  says,  "  I 
like  your  cheek !  "  "  And  now,"  'e  says,  '^  what  'ave  you 
been  doing  all  this  while,  Esther  ?  "  At  that  my  temper 
got  up,  and  I  says,  "  Looking  after  your  child."  "  My 
child  !  "  he  says ;  "  so  there  is  a  child,  is  there  ?  " 

FRED 

But  'ow  did  he  find  that  Jackie  was  'ere  with  Catherine  ? 
You  didn't  bring  'im  here  ? 

ESTHER 

Yes,  I  did.     'Ave  you  anything  to  say  against  that  ? 

FRED 

Oh  no  ;  only  it  don't  seem  like  you  to  give  way  to  'im. 

ESTHER 

I  'alf  thought  I'd  like  'im  to  see  what  he  had  lost.     If 

you  don't  think  I  did  right,  Fred 

MRS.  LEWIS 

Now,  Esther,  Mr.  Parsons  ain't  never  said  nothing  of 

the  kind. 

ESTHER 

Who's  saying  he  'as  ?  But  now  Fred  thinks  that  I 
shouldn't  'ave  brought  William  down  'ere — as  if  one 
could  foresee  that  you'd  let  the  child  out  with  'im  ! 

FRED 

It  isn't  a  great  matter  'is  having  the  child  out  for  a 
69 


day.  Our  marriage,  Esther,  will  make  an  end  of  it. 
'E  can't  come  after  you  then  ;  I  shan't  be  about  for 
nothing.  'E  deserted  you  and  ain't  got  no  call  upon 
you,  Esther,  or  the  child.  Don't  worry  yourself  about 
him.     When  'e  comes  back  with  Jackie  I'll  tell  'im. 

ESTHER 

So  we've  to  stand  'ere  till  'e  chooses  to  bring  my  boy 
to  me. 

MRS.  LEWIS 

'Ere  is  Mr.  Latch,  and  well,  I  declare  ! 

ESTHER 

What  is  it  ? 

MRS.  LEWIS 

Jackie  ain't  with  him  ! 

ESTHER 

Ain't  with  'im  !  Now  you  see — ^what's  'appened  to 
the  boy  ? 

[Enter  william  latch.] 

WILLIAM 

So  you're  'ere,  Esther. 

ESTHER 

Where's  Jackie  ? 

WILLIAM 

Gone  up  to  the  duck-pond  to  sail  his  boat. 

ESTHER 

What  boat  ?     I  never  knew  'e  'ad  one. 
70 


WILLIAM 

I  bought  him  a  boat  in  Peckham. 

ESTHER 

We  don't  want  none  of  your  boats. 

MRS.  LEWIS 

'E  always  mucks  himself  up  there  playing  with  them 
boys,  rolling  down  the  cinder-heaps  together.  Look 
at  'is  trousers,  sir. 

WILLIAM 

Well,  it  doesn't  matter,  Mrs.  Lewis.  I  put  him  into 
a  new  pair  of  velveteen  knickerbockers.  [Turning  to 
ESTHER.]  I'm  sorry  now  I  let  'im  go  to  the  pond  with 
his  new  clothes  on.  Why,  law  !  what  'ave  I  done  ? 
I  meant  no  'arm.  When  Mrs.  Lewis  told  me  that  he 
'ad  no  clothes  to  go  to  school  in,  I  took  him  into 
Peckham  and  got  him  a  new  suit. 

ESTHER 

Mrs.  Lewis  'ad  no  right  to  come  to  you  with  tales 
about  my  boy.  If  'e'd  been  waiting  for  you  to  clothe 
him  'e'd  'ave  'ad  to  wait  many  a  long  year.  'E  must 
be  fetched  back  at  once.     [She  goes  towards  the  door,] 

FRED 

Esther,  I'll  go  and  fetch  the  boy,  if  you'll  let  me. 

ESTHER 

Yes,  Fred,  do  you  go  and  fetch  him. 
[Exit  FRED  and  mrs.  lewis.] 

WILLIAM 

Who's  that  fellow,  Esther  ? 
71 


ESTHER 

It  ain't  none  of  your  affair  who  'e  is.     I  suppose  I'm 

the  best  judge  of  them  I  can  trust  my  boy  with  ? 

WILLIAM 

I've  said  nothing  again  him. 

ESTHER 

It  ain't  for  the  likes  of  you  to  speak  again  the  likes 
of  'im. 

WILLIAM 

Now,  Esther,  what's  the  use  in  being  so  snappish  ? 
I  'aven't  done  no  'arm. 

ESTHER 

You  beg  and  pray  of  me  to  let  you  see  the  child,  and 
when  I  do  you  come  'ere  on  the  sly. 

WILLIAM 

I  thought  you'd  like  to  see  him  in  a  new  suit  of  clothes. 

ESTHER 

A  nice  sort  of  mean  trick  ! 

WILLIAM 

Esther,  be  fair.  You  wouldn't  'ave  liked  it  if  I'd 
come  'ere  and  turned  up  my  nose  at  'im  and  taken 
my  'ook  and  never  seen  him  any  more,  would  you  ? 
l^She  does  not  answer J\  I  came  up  'ere  to  see  him,  for 
I  couldn't  get  'im  out  of  my  'ead.  'E's  a  trump,  that 
he  is,  that  child  of  ours — or  yours,  if  you  like  it 
better — and  I  came  'ere,  for  I  wanted  to  hear  about 
you  from  Mrs.  Lewis. 
72 


ESTHER 

I'm  no  concern  of  yours. 

WILLIAM  [Sitting  down] 

The  best  bit  of  luck  I  'ad  this  many  a  day  was  the 
day  I  knocked  the  jug  out  of  your  'and.  I  just 
'appened  to  have  a  bit  of  business  with  a  friend  who 
lives  your  way,  and  was  coming  along  from  'is  'ouse, 
turning  over  in  my  mind  what  he  had  told  me  about 
the  Stewards'  Cup,  when  I  saw  you  with  the  jug  in 
your  'and  crossing  the  street.  "  That's  the  prettiest 
girl  I've  seen  since  Esther  and  I  parted,"  I  said  ;  "  the 
sort  of  girl  I'd  like  to  see  behind  the  bar  at  the  King's 
Head." 

ESTHER 

The  King's  Head  ! 

WILLIAM 

I'll  tell  you  about  that  presently  ;  you  see,  you're  that 
snappish  you  won't  give  me  a  chance  to  tell  you 
nothing,  and  there's  a  good  bit  to  talk  about.  Come 
now,  Esther,  sit  down.  You  always  keeps  your  figure  ; 
you  know  you  ain't  a  bit  changed,  and  when  I  caught 
sight  of  those  white  teeth  I  said,  "  La  !  why  it's 
Esther  !  "  and  the  moment  I  looked  into  your  eyes 
I  felt  it  'ad  been  a  mistake  all  along  and  that  you  was 
the  only  one  I  cared  about. 

ESTHER 

A  queer  way  you  'ave  of  showing  it.     'Ow  do  you 

know  that  you  ain't  doing  me  'arm  by  coming  after  me  ? 

WILLIAM 

You  mean  you're   keeping   company  with  that  chap 

and  don't  want  me  ? 

73 


ESTHER 

You  don't  know  that  I'm  not  a  married  woman.  You 
don't  know  what  kind  of  situation  I'm  in.  You  comes 
after  me  just  because  it  pleases  your  fancy,  and  don't 
give  it  a  thought  that  you  might  get  me  the  sack,  as 
you  got  it  me  before. 

WILLIAM 

There's  no  use  nagging.  You  listen  to  what  I  'ave 
to  say,  and  if  you  ain't  satisfied  you  can  go  your  way 
and  I  can  go  mine.  You  said  I  didn't  know  that  you 
wasn't  married,  and  if  you're  not,  so  much  the  better. 
If  you  are,  you've  only  to  say  so  and  I'll  take  my  'ook. 
I've  done  quite  enough  'arm  without  coming  between 
you  and  your  'usband. 

ESTHER 

No,  I  ain't  married  yet. 

WILLIAM 

I'm  glad  of  that. 

ESTHER 

I  don't  see  what  odds  it  can  make  to  you  whether  I'm 
married  or  not.  If  I  ain't  married,  you  are  ;  you  'ave 
a  wife  of  your  own  and  children  of  your  own. 

WILLIAM 

I  have  no  children,  and  marriage  is  a  poor  lookout 
without  children.  Peggy  knew  all  the  time  I  was  gone 
on  you.  We  didn't  hit  it  off,  and  for  this  reason  or 
another  she  likes  a  fellow  she  met  at  Boulogne,  and 
wants  to  get  a  divorce  from  me.  I've  been  a  bit  lucky 
racing  lately  and  have  bought  the  King's  Head  in 
74 


Soho — regular  custom,  the  same  lot  turn  up  every 
night  to  talk  racing.  Many  of  them  would  like  to 
come  round  at  midday  if  there  was  a  joint  on — 
roast  leg  of  mutton,  half-past  one,  shall  we  say,  potatoes 
and  veg.,  cheese  and  butter — is.  6d.  ? 

ESTHER 

My  law  !  what  has  all  this  got  to  do  with  me  and 
Jackie  ? 

WILLIAM 

A  great  deal,  Esther.  \They  look  at  each  other.']  Can't 
you  put  two  and  two  together  and  see  that  it  makes 
four  ?  You  are  the  mother  of  that  child,  I  am  'is 
father,  and  it  ain't  unnatural  that  I  would  like  you  to 
come  and  live  at  the  King's  Head  with  me,  so  that 
we  may  put  the  pence  together  and  have  a  tidy  little 
sum  to  leave  the  boy. 

ESTHER 

Well,  you  'ave  a  cheek  if  ever  a  man  in  this  world 
'ad  one  !  You  come  'ere  to  ask  me  to  go  and  live  at 
the  King's  Head  with  you  and  you  a  married  man  ! 
Well !  [Enter  fred.]  'Ere  you  are  back  again,  Fred, 
and  you  'aven't  come  a  moment  too  soon. 

FRED 

'Ow  is  that  ? 

\He  looks  at  william.] 

ESTHER 

But  Jackie — couldn't  you  find  'im  ? 

FRED 

Yes,  I  found  'im  where  this  gentleman  said  'e  was ;  up 
75 


at  the  duck-pond.  'E's  with  another  hoy,  and  they 
are  so  happy  sailing  the  boat  that  I  hadn't  the  'eart  to 
bring  'im  back  ;  he  pleaded  that  'ard  to  be  left.  You 
don't  mind,  do  you,  Esther  I 

ESTHER 

Not  when  you  say  he's  in  no  mischief.  [Pause,]  You 
two  men  don't  know  each  other.  Let  me  introduce 
you.  This  is  Mr.  William  Latch,  Fred,  Jackie's  father  ; 
and  this  is  Mr.  Fred  Parsons,  William.  Mr.  Parsons 
is  going  to  marry  me.  So  if  you  two  'ave  anything  to 
say  to  each  other  you  'ad  better  say  it,  for  I  don't 
suppose  in  time  to  come  you'll  see  each  other  very 
often,  [fred  is  about  to  speak,]  But  before  you  begin 
there  is  one  thing  I  must  tell  you,  Fred.  William 
came  'ere  to  ask  me  to  go  to  live  with  him  at  the 
King's  Head.  Now  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  cheek 
like  that  ? 

FRED 

Perhaps,  Esther,  Mr.  Latch  didn't  know  that  you  and 
I  was  going  to  be  married. 

WILLIAM 

This  is  the  first  I've  heard  of  it.     I  asked  Esther 


ESTHER 

If  I  was  married,  and  I  said  I  wasn't. 

WILLIAM 

But  you  should  'ave  said  you  was  going  to  be. 

ESTHER 

And  if  I  did  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  'ave  asked  me  to 

go  to  live  with  you  at  the  King's  Head  ? 

76 


FRED 

The  King's  Head  ?  That  sounds  like  a  public- 
house. 

ESTHER 

And  it  is  one,  in  Soho  ;  William  is  a  betting  man  too, 
Fred. 

WILLIAM 

There's  no  betting  in  the  bar  at  the  King's  Head  ;  all 
my  betting  is  done  on  the  course. 

FRED 

Betting  on  the  course  and  betting  in  the  bar  ;  wherever 
there  is  betting  there  is  evil.  I  wouldn't  'ave  you 
understand  that  I  hold  with  betting  on  the  course, 
but  them  that  goes  to  races  knows  what  they  'as  to 
expect. 

WILLIAM 

So  them's  your  opinions,  and  of  course  everybody 
must  abide  by  them.  The  world  is  just  a  blooming 
hegg  that  you'd  put  under  your  wing  and  'atch,  and 
the  chicken  that  the  likes  of  you  would  'atch  out  would 
be  tough  picking.  But  the  world  'atches  its  own 
chickens,  and  maybe  there's  one  or  two  worse  even 
than  myself,  who,  I  suppose,  is  pretty  bad  in  your 
eyes.  A  lot  of  screeching  and  caterwauling  against 
the  poor  man's  glass  of  beer  and  his  bit  on  a  'orse,  and 
'is  pipe  of  tobacco  too.  [william  takes  out  his  fouch 
and  offers  it  to  fred.]  You  don't  smoke,  do  you  ? 
[fred  shakes  his  head.]  I  thought  not.  Everything's 
wrong  except  chapel  and  prayers ;  betting,  getting 
money  out  of  other  people's  pockets.  But  there  are 
many  ways  of  doing  that  besides  betting.  What  about 
77 


yer  blooming  plate  that  goes  round  the  pews,  and 
the  sour  looks  that  you  throws  at  the  poor  chap  who 
puts  nothing  in  it  ?  Religion  forks  more  money  out 
of  people's  pockets  than  ever  betting  did,  and  precious 
little  pleasure  they  gets  for  their  money  ;  but  a  bet 
puts  new  life  into  a  man  ;  whether  the  'orse  wins  or 
loses,  he  'as  'is  money's  worth.  You  knows,  Esther, 
what  I  says  is  true  ;  you've  seen  them  at  Woodview 
waiting  for  the  evening  papers  to  see  if  their  fancy  is 
coming  on  in  the  betting.  Man  can't  live  without 
'ope,  and  that's  just  what  this  fellow  would  take  from 


'im. 


FRED 

And  their  poor  wives !  Very  little  'ope  they  gets  out 
of  the  bets  the  'usbands  make  in  public-house  bars 
at  night. 

ESTHER 

What  about  the  boy  that  was  'ad  up  the  other  day  and 
said  it  was  all  through  betting  which  began  by  pawning 
his  father's  watch.  You  won't  tell  me  it's  right  to 
bet  with  bits  of  boys  like  that. 

WILLIAM 

I  see,  Esther,  'e's  been  getting  at  you.  You  always 
was  the  religious  sort.  [To  fred.]  The  'orse  he 
backed  won. 

FRED 

So  much  the  worse.  The  boy  will  never  do  another 
honest  day's  work  as  long  as  he  lives.  When  they  win 
they  'as  a  drink  for  luck  ;  when  they  loses  they  'as  a 
drink  to  cheer  them  up.  My  life  has  been  spent 
trying  to  combat  these  terrible  evils. 
78 


WILLIAM 

Now,  Esther,  since  this  chap  of  yours  'as  been  so  kind 
and  sympathetic  about  my  affairs,  will  you  tell  me  'ow 
'e  gets  his  living  ? 

ESTHER 

Mr.  Parsons  was  a  rent-collector,  but  'e's  given  it  up. 

WILLIAM 

Didn't  like  the  job  of  tearing  the  three-and-sixpences, 
and  thefour-and-sixpences,  and  the  five-and-sixpences 
a  week  out  of  some  poor  devil  wot  gets  up  at  half-past 
five  in  the  morning  to  drive  a  van,  and  comes  home 
with  a  wet  shirt  on  'im,  lucky  if  'e  gets  a  bite  and  a  cup 
of  tea,  and  goes  out  again  and  comes  back  wet.  No,  'e 
didn't  like  the  job. 

ESTHER 

'E's  got  the  place  of  caretaker  up  at  the  mansions. 

WILLIAM 

What  mansions  ? 

ESTHER 

Ayrdale.         ._  ^ 

WILLIAM 

Why,  law  !  that's  up  at  Paddington  ;  I  know  them. 
All  that  property  belongs  to  Lord  Glassbrooke  that  'as 
the  biggest  stud  of  'orses  at  the  present  time.  You 
see,  you're  all  on  the  betting  just  as  much  as  I  am 
myself,  Mr.  Facing-both-ways. 
79 


FRED 

I've  got  nothing  to  do  with  Lord  Glassbrooke's  race- 
horses.    I  'ave  to  look  after  the  mansions. 

WILLIAM 

'Ow  do  you  know  the  mansions  wasn't  built  with  the 
money  that  'is  Lordship  took  from  the  bookies  when  'e 
won  the  Derby  with  Heraclius  ? 

FRED 

It  is  none  of  my  business  what  his  Lordship  does  with 
his  money,  so  long  as  I  don't  do  wrong  myself. 

WILLIAM 

So  long  as  you  don't  do  wrong  ?  And  wrong  is  what 
you  pleases  to  think  wrong,  and  right  is  what  you 
pleases  to  think  right,  and  nobody  else  is  to  have  an 
opinion.  But  we  'aven't  come  'ere  to  argue  about 
betting,  but  to  find  out  which  of  us  is  going  to  get 
Esther. 

FRED 

If  that's  what  you've  come  for,  you're  on  the  wrong 


WILLIAM 

Glad  to  see  an  improvement,  Mr.  Facing-both-ways. 
Well,  it  looks  as  if  I  was  going  to  lose  this  race  by  a 
head  on  the  post.  You're  going  to  marry  him,  Esther. 
Well,  he  may  suit  you  ;  as  I  said  just  now,  you  was 
always  of  the  pious  sort.  I  wish  you  luck.  But  I'm 
sorry  for  my  boy. 

FRED 

Sorry  because  he  ain't  going  to  be  brought  up  among 
80 


drinking  and  betting  ?     He'll  be  brought  up  in  the 
service  of  the  Lord.     I'll  see  to  that. 


ESTHER 

To  hear  you  two  men  talk,  one  would  think  that  I 
didn't  know  what  was  good  for  my  boy.  Neither  of 
you  know  nothing  about  it.  It  is  the  mother  who  is 
the  best  judge  of  what  is  good  for  her  child  ;  she's  the 
one  who  'as  slaved  for  him,  and  then  you  men  come 
along  and  think  you  can  settle  it  all  your  own  way 
with  an  argument  about  drinking  and  betting.  I  claims 
what  I  worked  for  with  my  own  two  hands,  and  will 
have  no  interference. 


WILLIAM 

Bravo  !   Esther,  you've  earned  him, 

ESTHER 

And  with  the  work  of  my  hands,  while  you  went  your 
way,  leaving  me  to  find  a  'ome  for  him  ;  and  that  I 
did,  and  am  still  doing,  asking  no  'elp  from  nobody,  no 
more  than  a  fox  with  a  cub  does.  It  is  the  vixen  he 
waits  for,  sitting  up  watchful  when  he  thinks  he  'ears 
her  coming,  and  barking  when  'e  sees  the  rabbit  in  her 
mouth.  She  throws  it  down  to  him  afore  she's  'ad  a 
bite  out  of  it  herself,  letting  the  cub  'ave  the  best 
part,  living  'erself  on  the  scraps.  That's  the  way  we 
women  do,  plenty  of  us  in  the  city  of  London,  from 
daytime  to  dark,  always  thinking  of  the  cub  at  home. 

WILLIAM 

But,  Esther,  you  never  told  me  there  was  going  to  be 

a  child. 

Si  f 


ESTHER 

Much  it  would  'ave  mattered  to  you  even  if  I  'ad  ! 
You'd  'ave  left  me  to  go  away  with  Miss  Peggy. 

WILLIAM 

You've  no  right  to  say  that,  Esther. 

ESTHER 

When  I  brought  you  'ere  last  week  you  asked  me  in 
the  train  what  I  'ad  been  doing  all  these  years. 
I  didn't  answer  you,  but  I  will  now.  Fred  knows 
what  I've  been  through  ;  'e'U  tell  you  what  I  says 
ain't  no  lies.  When  you  left  Woodview,  the  Saint,  as 
we  used  to  call  'er,  said  she  couldn't  keep  me  on  account 
of  the  other  servants. 

WILLIAM 
You  told  'er  ? 

ESTHER 

We  did  well  to  call  her  the  Saint.  I  can't  speak  of  her 
without  tears  a-coming  into  my  eyes.  She  gave  me 
as  much  money  on  my  leaving  as  would  see  me  through. 
The  child  was  born  in  Queen  Charlotte's  'Ospital,  and 
all  the  money  I  'ad  was  gone  then,  so  there  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  put  Jackie  out  to  nurse.  Mrs.  Spires — 
that's  the  woman  I  left  'im  with — would  have  taken 
him  off  my  'ands  for  ever  for  five  pounds,  and  set  me 
free.  It  was  this  man  'ere  that  got  me  out  of  'er  'ouse 
and  showed  me  the  way  to  the  work'us. 

WILLIAM 

To  the  work'us  ? 
82 


ESTHER 

Yes.  Do  that  surprise  you  ?  And  I  remained  in  it 
for  many  a  day.  And  when  I  came  out  it  was  to 
travel  London  in  search  of  sixteen  pounds  a  year, 
which  was  the  least  I  could  do  with.  To  get  them 
I've  worked  sixteen  hours  a  day  in  lodging-'ouses, 
beating  carpets,  scrubbing  floors,  lighting  fires,  empty- 
ing dust-bins,  sleeping  anywhere — ^they  ain't  particular 
where  they  puts  a  general  servant  to  sleep,  I  can  tell 
you.  The  food — any  scraps  that  come  down.  I've 
borne  all  that,  to  say  nothing  of  the  shame  and  sneers 
I  'ad  to  put  up  with  for  the  sake  of  bringing  him  up 
respectable.  And  what  did  he  cost  you  ?  A  toy-boat 
and  a  pair  of  velveteen  knickerbockers.  And  now  you 
come  wanting  to  share  him.     Is  it  fair,  I  asks  ? 

WILLIAM 

I  thought  you'd  like  to  see  him  dressed  out,  and  his 
schooling — for  his  sake 

ESTHER 

For  his  sake  !  I  like  that,  as  if  I  'adn't  done  enough 
for  him,  slaving  myself  all  these  years,  and  in  rags  ! 
Look  at  the  gown  I'm  wearing,  and  the  'at  on  my  'ead ! 
Now,  if  it  was  any  one  else  but  you  !  Just  tell  me, 
where  do  I  come  in  ?  I've  played  the  game  long 
enough.  Where  do  I  come  in  ?  That's  what  I  want 
to  know. 

FRED 

You've  lost  all  claim  to  the  child. 

WILLIAM 

Now  come,  I  can  stand  Esther  jawing  me,  but  I  ain't 
83 


going  to  take  if  from  you.  You  may  be  going  to 
marry  'er,  but  it  wouldn't  be  much  of  a  task  for  me  to 
throw  you  out  of  doors.  I  'ave  a  deal  of  patience  and 
can  stint  myself  a  lot  for  'er  sake,  but 

ESTHER  [Coming  between  them] 

Now,  William,  you  men  aren't  going  to  come  to  blows 
for  me.  Fred,  you're  to  blame  as  well ;  for  after  all 
it  is  for  me  to  decide. 

FRED 

Whether  he  is  to  'ave  the  child  ?     I'll  say  no  more. 

WILLIAM 
You  do  well. 

FRED 

Esther,  will  you  let  me  explain  ?  It  wasn't  to  come 
to  quarrelling  that  I  spoke,  but  only  to  put  matters 
before  Mr.  Latch  as  straight  as  I  could,  for  I  wanted 
him  to  see  that  he  had  no  right  to  come  here  after  all 
these  years  asking  you  to  go  and  live  with  him.  You 
didn't  tell  me  that  he  asked  you  to  marry  him. 

ESTHER 

Marry  him  ?  Why,  ain't  I  told  you  that  'e's  a 
married  man  ? 

FRED 

And  'e  'as  the  cheek  to  come  'ere  and  ask  you,  the 
woman  I've  asked  to  be  my  wife,  to  live  with  him  in  a 
public-house  bar,  with  him  a  betting  man  !     To  live 
in  adultery  ! 
84 


WILLIAM  f 

That's  'ow  you  puts  it. 

FRED 

It's  either  true  or  false,  and  if  it  is  false 


WILLIAM 

It  was  to  get  a  divorce  from  my  wife,  with  whom  I 
'aven't  been  living  for  some  time,  that  I  asked  Esther 
to  come  and  live  with  me  at  the  King's  Head. 

FRED 

I  orders  you  out  of  the  house. 

WILLIAM 

Does  the  'ouse  belong  to  you  ? 

ESTHER 

William,  there  must  be  no  fighting  here. 

FRED 

If  he  'ad  any  spark  of  honour  in  'im,  when  he  heard  that 
you  were  going  to  marry  me  'e'd  have  taken  his  'ook ; 
and  if  'e  'ad  any  sense  of  right  in  'im,  'aving  once 
disgraced  you,  'e  wouldn't  come  back.  Either  he  or 
I  leaves  this  'ouse. 

WILLIAM 

I  don't  give  him  no  heed.  You  know,  Esther,  that  I 
meant  you  no  harm,  that  I  intended  to  act  fair  by 
you  and  marry  you  as  soon  as  I  got  my  divorce.  And 
the  boy ;  you'll  think  over  whether  you  can  let  me 
see  him  or  whether  you  can't.  I  loved  you  always 
85 


fondly,  but  things  went  wrong ;  things  don't  come 
out  as  we  want  in  this  world,  and  it's  easy  to  make  me 
seem  a  'eartless  fellow.  But  you  knows  that  I'm  not, 
and  that's  a  great  comfort  to  me.  You're  going  to 
marry  him  ;  maybe  you're  more  suited  to  him — I 
'opes  you  are.  And  now,  Mr.  Parsons,  I'll  wish  you 
a  good  even.  You  left  my  little  son  up  at  the  duck- 
pond,  didn't  you  ?  [fred  nods,]  You  don't  mind, 
Esther,  my  going  there  to  see  'im  ?  I'll  send  him 
back  to  you  for  I  think  you'll  like  'im  in  the  velveteens 
I  bought  him.  'E  does  look  that  'andsome  in  them 
that  'e'U  make  your  'eart  leap  when  you  sees  'im.  And 
perhaps  you'll  think  for  his  sake  a  bit  kinder  of  his 
father.     Now,  which  is  the  way  ? 

ESTHER 

I'll  show  you,  William. 

[She  goes  to  the  door  and  points  out  the  way  to  him. 
When  she  returns^  fred  is  walking  up  and  down 
very  angry, ] 

FRED 

Esther,  you  should  'ave  told  me  all  this  before.  This 
comes  of  hiding  the  truth  from  me. 

ESTHER 

What  truth,  Fred,  did  I  hide  from  you  ? 

FRED 

You  didn't  tell  me  that  you  had  met  William. 

ESTHER 

But,  Fred,  I  only  seed  you  once  since  I  met  him,  and 

then  only  for  a  few  minutes. 
86 


FRED 

All  the  same,  a  thing  lite  this  should  'ave  been  told 
to  me ;  and  coming  'ere  you  never  said  nothing 
about  him. 

ESTHER 

But,  Fred,  I  didn't  know  he'd  be  here. 

FRED 

But  you  knew  you  had  brought  him  'ere. 

ESTHER 

I  don't  see  no  'arm  in  that. 

FRED 

No  'arm  in  bringing  a  scoundrel  like  that  ? 

ESTHER 

He  ain't  no  scoundrel. 

FRED 

A  publican  and  a  betting  man  not  a  scoundrel !  And 
what  was  he  saying  to  you  when  I  came  in  ?  Asking 
him  to  go  and  live  with  him  in  a  public-house  so  that 
he  might  get  a  divorce  from  his  wife.  And  that  not 
a  scoundrel ! 

ESTHER 

I'm  not  thinking  any  more  about  it,  Fred  ;  I'm  think- 
ing of  the  happy  day  we  'ad  looked  forward  to  at  the 
Palace,  you  and  I  and  Jackie. 

FRED 

It  'as  been  spoilt  by  that  man. 

87 


ESTHER 

It's  a  pity,  Fred,  we  didn't  bring  Jackie  with  us  yester- 
day when  we  went  up  to  the  mansions.  Those  are 
fine  rooms  we're  going  to  live  in. 

FRED 

Yes.  Wasn't  I  lucky  to  get  the  place  ?  Thirty 
shillings  a  week,  free  rooms,  coal  and  light,  as  good 
as  one  hundred  a  year  to  us.  And  you  mustn't  let 
what  'e  said  about  Lord  Glassbrooke's  racing  stud  prey 
upon  your  mind.  We'll  be  so  'appy  there,  the  three 
of  us.  But  one  thing,  Esther,  I  must  insist  upon  : 
that  you  and  Jackie  shall  never  see  that  man  again. 
[jACKiE  is  heard  outside  ;  he  enters  running,] 

JACKIE 

Where's  mummie  ?  Oh,  there.  [He  runs  to  her.] 
Father  told  me  I  was  to  come  back  at  once,  for  you 
wanted  to  see  me  in  my  new  clothes.  Aren't  they 
lovely,  mummie  ?     And  I  didn't  soil  them  a  bit. 

ESTHER 

Yes,  darling,  they  are  beautiful  clothes.  Don't  'e  look 
lovely,  Fred  ? 

[fred  does  not  answer.] 

JACKIE 

And,  mummie,  my  boat — ^look  at  it !  It  sailed  beauti- 
fully on  the  duck-pond ;  and  father  says,  if  you'U  let 
me  go  with  him,  he'll  take  me  up  to  the  Rye  to  sail  it 
there.     May  I  go  with  father,  mummie  ? 

FRED 

Jackie,  listen  to  me.     You're  not  going  to  see  your 

father  any  more. 

88 


JACKIE 

But  why,  mummie  ? 

ESTHER 

You  mustn't  ask  questions,  dear,  you  must  do  what 
you're  bid. 

JACKIE 

Mummie,  won't  you  let  me  go  with  father  to  sail  my 
boat  ? 

ESTHER 

Go  and  show  your  new  clothes  and  your  boat  to  Mr. 
Parsons.  Fred,  look  at  his  boat ;  don't  spoil  the  little 
fellow's  pleasure  in  it. 

JACKIE 

Isn't  it  a  lovely  boat,  Mr.  Parsons  ?  Look,  it  has  got 
three  sails ;  it's  a  cutter-rigged  boat,  father  told  me 
that.  Father  knows  such  a  lot  about  boats.  Do  look 
at  it ! 

\He  pushes  the  boat  into  fred's  hand.^ 

FRED 

Don't  plague  me  with  your  boat ! 

[He  takes  the  boat  and  dashes  it  against  the  opposite 

walW] 

JACKIE 

Oh,  Mr.  Parsons,  why  did  you  do  that  ?     It's  broke  ; 
it'll  never  sail  again,  not  even  on  the  pond. 
\He  begins  to  cry,'] 

ESTHER 

Why  did  you  break  the  child's  boat  ?  What  'arm  was 
89 


'e  doing  ?  Come,  darling,  FU  try  to  buy  you  another 
boat. 

JACKIE 

But,  mummie,  you're  too  poor. 

FRED 

I'm  sorry,  Jackie,  for  breaking  your  boat ;  I'll  buy 
you  another,  [jackie  turns  away  Jrom  him.]  Esther, 
I  suppose  I  did  wrong  to  break  his  boat — the  passion 
of  the  moment,  that  man  coming  back  and  at  such  a 
time.  The  best  way  would  be  for  us  three  to  go  into 
Pcckham.  I'll  buy  him  another  boat  and  'e'U  forget 
his  father. 

ESTHER 

Forget  his  father  like  that !     Fred,  you're  very  'ard. 

FRED 

I  tell  you  what  I  think  is  right,  Esther.  Jackie,  will 
you  come  into  Peckham  with  me  ? 

JACKIE 

No,  I  won't  go  to  Peckham.     I  don't  want  no  boat 

from  you.     Father  will  give  me  a  boat. 

FRED 

'E's  very  obstinate.  Esther,  will  you  tell  him  to 
come  ?     'E  mustn't  be  allowed  to  do  what  he  likes. 

ESTHER 

But  if  the  child  doesn't  wish  to  go,  Fred  ? 

FRED 

Don't  you  wish  to  come  ? 

90 


ESTHER 

No,  Fred,  he  don't. 

FRED 

You're   angry   with    me,    Esther,    now    aren't   you  ? 

What  more  can  I  do  ?     I  said  I'd  buy  Jackie  a  new 

boat. 

ESTHER 

You  shouldn't  'ave  broken  his  boat,  Fred.     You  won't 
go  to  Peckham  with  Mr.  Parsons  ? 

JACKIE 

No,  mummie  ;   don't  ask  me. 

ESTHER 

You  see  what  he  says,  Fred. 

[mrs.  lewis  comes  in  with  the  tea."] 

FRED 

Do  you  want  me  to  stay  for  tea  ? 

ESTHER 

Just  as  you  like  ;   but  I'm  very  tired,  I  can't  talk  any 

more. 

[He  puts  on  his  hat,] 

MRS.  LEWIS 

What,  going,  Mr.  Parsons,  afore  you've  had  a  cup  of 

tea  ?    I've  made  some  of  the  'ot  cakes  you  likes  so  well. 

FRED 

Thanks,  Catherine,  but  I  must  get  back  to  town.     I'll 
91 


call,  Esther,  to-morrow,  at  the  usual  time,  half-past 
seven. 

[She  does  not  answer.     Exit  fred.] 

MlRS.  LEWIS  [While  she  is  arranging  the  table] 
Doesn't   our  little  gentleman  look  fine  in  his   new 
clothes,  Esther  ?     But  your  boat,  Jackie — ^what  have 
you  done  ?     Is  it  possible  you  'ave  broke  it  already  ? 
Oh,  you  naughty  boy  ! 

JACKIE 

No,  Nannie  ;  Mr.  Parsons  broke  my  boat. 

MRS.  LEWIS 

Mr.  Parsons  broke  your  boat  ?     Why  did  he  do  that, 

Esther  ? 

JACKIE 

Because  father  bought  it  for  me ;  'e  don't  like  father. 
'E  says  I'm  never  to  see  father  again.  But,  mummie 
darling,  we're  going  to  see  father  again,  ain't  we  ? 

MRS.  LEWIS 

Jackie,  you  mustn't  worry  your  mother  any  more. 
Come  and  have  your  tea. 

JACKIE 

But,  mummie,  is  Soho  far  from  here  ? 

ESTHER 

Yes,  darling,  a  long  way.     Why  ? 

JACKIE 

Father  told  me  that  he  had  a  public-house  in  Soho. 
I'd  love  to  see  father  in  his  own  public-house,  mummie. 


Will  you  bring  me  to  see  him  ?  Do,  mummie,  after 
tea.  [ESTHER  takes  jackie  in  her  arms.]  You  will 
mummie  ?  Nannie,  won't  it  be  lovely  ?  We're  going 
to  see  a  real  public-house.  And  Nannie  will  go  too, 
won't  she,  mummie  ? 

ESTHER 

Yes,  darling,  we  all  go  after  tea. 


[Curtain,'] 


93 


Act  IV 

Scene  :  A  room  above  the  hat  in  the  King^s  Head. 
The  room  is  reached  by  a  spiral  staircase.  A  door. 
Two  windows.  Between  the  windows  a  tape  in 
working  order,  william  is  standing  on  a  chair^ 
ESTHER  is  standing  near  him  ;  she  holds  a  picture 
of  a  racehorse  in  her  hands. 

WILLIAM 

Now  give  it  to  me. 

ESTHER 

It  was  kind  of  Mr.  Arthur  to  send  you  the  picture. 

I  likes  a  man  not  to  forget  his  promises. 

WILLIAM 

The  same  'ere  ;  and  with  all  that  a  man  like  him  'as 
to  think  of — a  large  stud  of  'orses  and  his  own  riding. 
But  he  knew  that  we'd  like  to  'ave  Silver  Braid.  It 
all  goes  back  to  him,  and  so  we  gives  him  the  place  of 
honour.  The  very  spit  of  him !  You  drew  him  in 
the  sweep  at  Woodview. 

ESTHER  [Nodding] 

Has  Mr.  Arthur  changed  much  ? 

WILLIAM 

A  bit  sandier  than  he  was,  but  I  knowed  him  the 
moment  he  came  up  to  speak  to  me.  "  Mr.  Barfield," 
says  I.  "  What,  William  !  Never  !  "  says  he,  and 
asks  me  what  I  was  doing  at  Sandown.  "  Come  to 
see  the  racing,  sir,  like  yerself."  He  shook  hands  with 
me  and  we  walked  up  the  course  together,  talking  of 
95 


old  times.  He  knowed  all  about  Peggy.  She's 
married.     I've  forgotten  the  chap's  name. 

ESTHER 

The  one  you  kicked  downstairs  at  Boulogne  ? 

WILLIAM 

No,  not  him  ;  another.  I  can't  think  of  the  name. 
No  matter.     Now  'ave  I  got  it  straight  ? 

ESTHER 

Tilt  it  a  little  to  the  right  and  you've  got  it.  [He 
tilts  it,]  That's  too  much.  [He  tilts  it  the  other  way,] 
That's  right. 

[wiLLiAM  jumps  Jrom  the  chair  and  he  and  esther 

stand  looking  at  the  picture,] 

WILLIAM 

Ginger  remembered  you.  He  wished  us  luck,  took 
the  address,  and  said  he'd  come  in  this  morning  if  he 
possibly  could.  He  said  he  might  'ave  some  business 
to  talk  to  me  about.  Now,  I  wonder,  Esther,  what  it 
might  be.  Perhaps  to  give  me  a  commission  to  back 
some  'orse  for  him.  I'd  like  to  get  in  with  one  of  the 
great  stables.  It  was  nice  meeting  'im  again.  And 
what  do  you  think  ?  Five  minutes  after  I  met  Jimmy 
White.  You  remember  him  ?  The  little  fellow  we 
used  to  call  the  Demon — 'e  that  won  the  Stewards'  Cup 
on  Silver  Braid.  Didn't  him  and  you  have  a  tussle 
together  at  the  end  of  the  dinner  the  first  day  you 
came  down  from  town  ? 

ESTHER 

The  second  day  it  was. 

96 


WILLIAM 

You're  right ;  it  was  the  second  day.  The  first  day 
I  met  you  in  the  avenue.  I  was  leaning  over  the 
railings  having  a  smoke,  and  you  came  along  with  a 
'eavy  bundle  and  asked  me  the  way.  Good  Lor' !  how 
the  time  does  slip  by  !  It  seems  like  yesterday — and 
after  all  these  years  to  meet  you  as  you  was  coming  to 
the  public-'ouse  for  a  jug  of  beer  !  And  'ere  we  are, 
man  and  wife,  side  by  side  in  our  own  'ouse,  'appy  as 
the  morning.     You  are  happy,  Esther  ?     Say  you  are. 

ESTHER 

Why  do  you  want  to  'ear  me  say  it  ?  Don't  I  look 
like  a  happy  woman  ? 

WILLIAM 

It's  'ard  to  say  for  certain.     I  see  a  troubled  look  in 
your  face  sometimes. 

ESTHER 

Do  it  surprise  you,  William  ?  Ever  since  the  Rose 
and  Crown  was  raided  I  sees  a  'tec  in  every  stranger 
that  comes  into  the  bar.  What  would  become  of  us  ? 
All  that  'as  to  happen  is  to  bet  once  with  a  plain- 
clothes officer  and  our  licence  will  be  forfeited. 

WILLIAM 

There's  a  risk,  I  know  ;  betting  on  the  course  would 
be  safer.  But  I  should  always  be  away  from  home. 
Now,  own  up,  Esther,  you  wouldn't  like  that  ? 

ESTHER 

Perhaps  I  shouldn't,  but 

97  c 


WILLIAM 

There's  always  risks,  and,  as  yer  know,  if  there  was 
no  betting  there  wouldn't  be  a  soul  in  the  bar  ;  hardly 
any  one  comes  in  but  them  that  takes  the  odds. 
Esther,  you  ought  to  have  married  the  other  chap  ; 
he'd  have  given  you  a  great  deal  that  I  can't.  Your 
heart  ain't  altogether  in  the  life.  The  old  bringing-up 
is  always  gnawing  like  a  mouse  behind  the  wainscot. 

ESTHER 

You  think  I'm  not  suited  to  the  bar  ? 

WILLIAM 

It's  this  way  :  the  saint  may  not  like  the  niche,  but 
what  would  the  niche  be  without  the  saint  ?  You 
see  what  I  mean.  The  moment  you  leaves  the  bar 
the  light  goes  out  of  it,  and  when  you  returns  the 
light  comes  back  with  you,  and  every  one  wants  to 
be  served.  "  Beer  don't  taste  as  sweet  served  by  any 
other  hand."  So  I  heard  a  chap  say  the  other  night, 
and  gave  him  a  pretty  sour  look ;  though  I  dare  say  he 
meant  no  'arm. 

ESTHER  [Laughing] 

Lor' !    that    poor    chap    with    the    long    fair    silky 

moustache ! 

WILLIAM 

Ah  ha  !  you  know  the  one  I  mean.  Asking  him  if 
he  thought  the  Burton  was  as  good  last  month  as  this. 
I  have  an  eye  and  an  ear  for  what  goes  on. 

ESTHER 

Well,  William,  if  I  didn't  pass  a  word  with  them  what 

98 


would  the  bar  be  like  ?     They  might  as  well  be  in 
church. 

[Enter  William's  barman,] 

BARMAN 

There's  a  good  many  in  the  bar,  sir.     Shall  I  take 
their  money  ? 

WILLIAM 

Do  you  know  them  all  ? 

BARMAN 
I  think  so,  sir. 

WILLIAM 

Be  careful  to  bet  with  no  one  you  don't  know. 

BARMAN 

And  what  about  them  that  comes  introduced  by  a 
customer  ? 

WILLIAM 

They're  all  right. 

BARMAN 

And  what  about  them  that  'as  been  in  the  bar  pretty 
frequent  of  late  ? 

WILLIAM 

You'll  have  to  be  very  careful ;    it  will  be  better  to 
let  a  bet  go  than You'll  be  careful  ? 

BARMAN 

Yes,  governor,  and  I'll  keep  down  the  price. 

[Exit.] 
99 


ESTHER 

You  shouldn't  have  told  him  to  take  the  money, 

William. 

WILLIAM 

Nonsense,  Esther  ;    Teddy  knows  what  he  is  about. 
He  won't  bet  with  nobody  he  don't  know. 
[Enter  Arthur  barfield — "  ginger."] 

GINGER 

Good  morning,  William.     Mrs.  Latch,  I  presume  ? 

ESTHER 

Yes,  sir. 

GINGER 

You've  hardly  changed.  An  inch  or  two  more  apron- 
string  perhaps,  but  all  for  the  better.  I  see  you've 
got  the  picture  hung  up. 

WILLIAM 

We'd  just  finished  hanging  it  when  you  came  in,  sir. 

GINGER 

Ah,  it  was  a  great  day  at  Woodview  when  he  won  the 
Cup.  Fifty-to-one  chance,  started  at  thirty.  Do 
you  remember,  William,  how  the  Gaffer  tried  him 
to  win  with  twenty-two  pound  more  than  he  had  to 
carry  ?  You  were  at  Woodview  at  the  time,  Esther. 
Woodview  was  your  initiation  into  racing.  I  suppose 
you've  seen  a  great  deal  of  racing  since  you've  come 
to  the  King's  Head  ? 

ESTHER  ^ 

No,  sir  ;    I've  heard  a  great  deal  about  racing,  but  I 

never  saw  a  race  run  but  once. 

100 


GINGER  /^'/.  J   iK'^'0:;Ki' 

When  was  that  ?  '.,»;';^.r^    ^, ':•>.•'  - 

ESTHER 

We  all  went  to  the  Derby  last  year  and  walked  about 
the  course  till  we  was  tired.  My  husband  was  betting 
on  the  course  then. 

GINGER 

And  he  should  return  to  it,  or  join  one  of  the  great 
clubs — ^Tattersall's  or  the  Albert.  He  would  be  able 
to  do  commission  betting.  That's  what  I've  come  to 
speak  to  him  about. 

WILLIAM 

We've  got  a  nice  sitting-room  which  I'd  like  to  show 

you,  sir.     If  you'll  just  step  through.     You'll  be  more 

comfortable. 

GINGER 

I'll  see  you  again  before  I  leave  Esther.  My  mother 
will  be  glad  to  hear  I've  met  you.  She  talks  about  you 
frequently. 

WILLIAM 

My  wife  often  speaks  of  the  Saint's  kindness  to  her. 
[ginger  looks  surprised,'] 

ESTHER 

That's  what  we  used  to  call  your  mother  at  Wood- 
view,  sir  ;  and  she  is  a  saint.     She  is  well,  I  hope. 

GINGER 

A  little  older,  but  well  enough  now  that  she  has 
returned  to  Woodview. 

lOI 


V,  ESTHER;..    ;;,/'; 
Stxe's  Vden  '^ Way,'  sir '  ? 

GINGER 

Oh,  we've  only  just  returned.  Ever  since  my  father's 
death  I  had  been  training  in  the  north,  with  the  worst 
luck  imaginable.     It  wasn't  until  we  went  back 

WILLIAM 

Esther  would  keep  you  talking  all  day  about  Wood- 
view,  sir,  if  you  let  her. 

[Exit  WILLIAM  a7id  GINGER.     Enter  john  randal.] 

RANDAL 

Where's  the  governor  ? 

ESTHER 

He's  just  stepped  through. 

RANDAL 

Anybody  with  him  ? 

ESTHER 

Yes  ;  Mr.  Arthur. 

RANDAL 

Ginger  !     Is  he  here  ? 

ESTHER 

Did  you  want  to  see  William  ? 

RANDAL 

I  wanted  a  word  with  him. 

[Enter  journeyman  and  ketley.] 

102 


JOURNEYMAN 

Good  morning,  John.  [To  Esther.]  Two  threes, 
ma'am.     John,  will  you  join  us  ? 

RANDAL 

No,  thank  ye,  but  if  I  might  have  a  glass  of  milk. 
[ESTHER  goes  to  top  oj  staifs  and  calls  dozonJ] 

ESTHER 

Teddy  !     Two  threes,  Scotch. 

KETLEY  [Laughing] 
Irish  for  me,  please. 

ESTHER 

How  stupid  of  me  !     One  Irish,  Teddy,  one  Scotch, 
and  a  glass  of  milk. 
[She  returns.] 

KETLEY  [To  journeyman] 

So  you  don't  believe  Cross  Roads  will  win  the  Dee 

Plate  ? 

[journeyman  takes  out  his  pocket-book.] 

JOURNEYMAN 

She  couldn't  win  at  the  weights.  [Opens  his  pocket- 
book.]  Inquisitor  gave  seven  pounds  and  a  beating 
to  Black  Diamond,  and  Black  Diamond  beat  Cross 

Roads.     Now,  how  in  God's  name 

[randal  comes  over.] 

RANDAL 

Still  at  yer  studies. 
103 


JOURNEYMAN 

You'd  back  a  'orse  whatever  weight  he  had  to  carry, 
provided  of  course  you  gets  the  straight  tip. 

RANDAL 

One  horse  improves  upon  last  year's  running  and 
another  don't.  Where  are  you  then  ?  The  handi- 
capper  lets  in  a  horse  that  has  been  pulled — cleverly, 
of  course  ;  they  know  how  to  do  that  job  nowadays. 

JOURNEYMAN 

Yes,  they  do,  and  how  to  set  stories  going  about  trials. 

KETLEY 

That's  what  I've  been  saying  all  the  way  up  the  street. 

The  weights  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  no  more 

has  the  tips  straight  from  'eadquarters. 

[Enter  barman  zvM  drinks.    They  go  up  the  stage 
to  meet  him.     Enter  ginger  and  william.] 

WILLIAM 

I'll  attend  to  that  little  matter  for  you,  sir. 

GINGER  l^ees  randal] 

Hullo,  John  !      Very  glad   to  see  you  again.     Going 

strong  and  well,  I  hope  ? 

RANDAL 

As  well  as  may  be,  sir,  for  one  that  has  been  out  of  a 
job  since  Christmas.  But  I  hopes  to  get  the  place  of 
'ead-waiter  at  a  new  restaurant  opening  in  Oxford 
Street. 

[randal  and  ginger  talk  together,     william  goes 

over  to  JOURNEYMAN  and  ketley.] 
104 


WILLIAM 

Mr.  Arthur  Barfield,  the  great  steeplechase  jock — he 

that  rode  The  Gardener  to  victory  last  year  at  Liverpool. 

[journeyman    and    ketley    look    admiringly    at 

GINGER.] 

RANDAL 

I  don't  know  about  next  week's  events,  sir,  but  I've 
heard  of  something  for  the  Cup — an  outsider  will  win. 

GINGER 

Have  you  backed  it  ? 

RANDAL 

I  would  have  if  I  had  had  the  money.  Things  have 
been  going  very  unlucky  with  me  lately.  But  I'd 
advise  you,  sir,  to  have  a  trifle  on.  It's  the  best  tip 
I've  had  in  my  life. 

GINGER 

Really  ?  So  I  will,  and  so  shall  you.  I'm  damned  if 
you  shan't  have  your  bet  on  !  Come,  what  is  it  ? 
William  will  lay  the  odds.     What  is  it  ? 

RANDAL 

Briar  Rose,  the  White  House  stable,  sir. 

GINGER 

Why,  I  thought  that 

RANDAL 

No  such  thing,  sir  ;   Briar  Rose  is  the  one. 

GINGER  [Taking  up  a  paper] 
Twenty  to  one  Briar  Rose  taken, 
105 


RANDAL 

You  see,  sir,  it  was  taken. 

GINGER 

Will  you  lay  the  price,  William — ^ten  pounds  to  half 
a  sovereign  ? 

WILLIAM 

Yes,  I'll  lay  it.  [ginger  takes  a  half-sovereign  from 
his  pocket  and  hands  it  to  william.]  You're  good  for 
a  thin  'un,  sir.     [Hands  back  the  money, '\ 

KETLEY  [Arguing  with  journeyman] 
I  have  heard  that  argument ;    I  know  all  about  it, 
but  it  don't  alter  me.     Too  many  strange  things  occur 
for  me  to  think  that  everything  can  be  calculated  with 
a  bit  of  lead  pencil  and  a  greasy  pocket-book. 

WILLIAM  [To  ginger] 

It's  well  worth  hearing  those  coves  arguing,  sir. 
[ginger  moves  towards  them.] 

JOURNEYMAN 

What  has  my  pocket-book  to  do  with  it  ?  You  wants 
to  see  my  pocket-book  ?  Well,  here  it  is,  and  I'll  bet 
two  glasses  of  beer  that  it  ain't  greasier  than  any  other 
pocket-book  in  the  room. 

[The  tape  begins  clicking  ;    they  crowd  round  it, 

WILLIAM  reads  out,] 

WILLIAM 

The  Dee  Plate 

KETLEY 

Cross  Roads — I  know  it's  Cross  Roads. 
1 06 


JOURNEYMAN 

Will  you  shut  yer  mouth  ? 

WILLIAM 

Wheatear,  Greensleeves,  and  President.  Which  of  you 
backed  Wheatear  ? 

JOURNEYMAN 

I  did.  Now,  Herbert,  what  do  you  say  to  your 
omens  ?  You  were  so  damned  sure  of  Cross  Roads. 
Why  didn't  it  come  right  ? 

KETLEY 

The  omen  is  always  right,  but  we  ain't  always  in  the 
state  of  mind  for  the  reading  of  the  omen.  There  are 
times  when  the  mind  is  fresh  like  the  morning,  that's 
the  time.  It's  a  sudden  light  that  comes  into  the 
mind,  and  it  points  straight  like  a  ray,  if  there  be 
nothing  to  stop  it.  Now  do  you  understand  ?  The 
whole  thing  is  in  there  being  nothing  to  interrupt  the 
light. 

JOURNEYMAN 

But  if  you  can't  read  yer  omens  it  all  comes  to  the  same 
thing — omens  or  no  omens. 

KETLEY 

A  man  will  trip  over  a  piece  of  wire  laid  across  the 
street,  but  that  don't  prove  that  he  can't  walk,  do  it, 
Walter  ?  I  made  a  mistake,  I  know  I  did ;  and  if  it 
will  help  you  to  understand,  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was 
made.  Three  weeks  ago  I  was  in  this  bar  'aving  what 
I  usually  takes.  It  was  a  bit  early  ;  none  of  you 
fellows  had  come  in.  I  'ad  a  nice  bit  of  supper  and 
was  just  feeling  that  fresh  and  clear-'eaded,  as  I  was 
explaining  to  you  just  now  is  required  for  the  reading, 
107 


thinking  of  nothing  in  perticler,  when  suddenly  the 
light  came.  I  remembered  a  conversation  I  had  with 
a  chap  about  American  corn.  He  wouldn't  'ear  of  the 
Government  taxing  corn  to  'elp  the  British  farmer. 
Well,  that  conversation  came  back  to  me  as  clear  as  if 
the  dawn  had  begun  to  break.  I  could  positively  see 
the  bloody  corn  ;  I  could  pretty  well  have  counted  it. 
I  felt  there  was  an  omen  about  somewhere,  and  all  of 
a  tremble  I  took  up  the  paper.  It  was  lying  just 
where  your  hand  is,  Walter.  But  just  as  I  was  about 
to  cast  my  eye  down  the  list  of  'orses  a  cab  comes  down 
the  street  as  'ard  as  it  could  tear.  We  rushed  out — 
the  shafts  was  broke,  the  'orse  galloping  and  kicking, 
and  the  cabby  'olding  on  as  'ard  as  he  could.  But  it 
was  bound  to  go,  and  over  it  went  against  the  kerb. 
The  cabby,  poor  chap,  was  pretty  well  shook  to  pieces ; 
his  leg  was  broke,  and  we'd  to  take  him  to  'ospital. 
Now,  I  asks  if  it  was  no  more  than  might  be  expected 
that  I  should  have  gone  wrong  about  the  omen  ? 
Next  day,  as  luck  would  have  it,  I  rolled  up  'alf  a  pound 
of  butter  in  a  piece  of  paper  on  which  Cross  Roads  was 
written. 

GINGER 

But  if  there  had  been  no  accident  and  you  had  looked 
down  the  list  of  horses,  how  do  you  know  that  you 
would  have  spotted  the  winner  ? 

KETLEY 

What,  not  Wheatear  ?  And  with  all  that  American 
corn  in  my  'ead  !     Is  it  likely  I'd  'ave  missed  it  ? 

GINGER 

And  how  about  the  Chester  Cup  ?     Have  you  found 

the  winner  for  that  ? 

io8 


JOURNEYMAN 

Oh,  he  thinks  he's  spotted  the  winner  right  enough  ; 
though  how  in  God's  name 

KETLEY 

I  wish  you  wouldn't  speak  like  that,  Journeyman ;  it's 
offensive  to  my  feelings. 

JOURNEYMAN  [Laughing] 

Offensive  to  his  feelings  because  he  went  to  church 

last  Sunday. 

KETLEY, 

You  see,  sir,  I  always  hold  with  going  to  church,  and 
last  Sunday  evening  the  missus  and  I  went  there,  and 
I  was  falling  asleep  over  the  sermon,  when  I  wakes  up 
suddenly,  hearing  "  Vanity  of  vanities,  all  is  vanity." 
I  remembered  Vanity  was  running  for  the  Chester 
Cup,  and  I  says  to  myself — ^'  That's  it !  " 

GINGER 

So  you've  backed  Vanity  ! 

KETLEY 

If  Vanity  doesn't  win,  I'll  never  believe  in  omens  again. 

WILLIAM  [To  journeyman] 

What  odds  did  I  lay  you  against  Wheatear  ?  Twenty- 
five  dollars  to  one,  wasn't  it  ?  Five  quid.  [He  gives 
JOURNEYMAN  a  fiote  and  searches  in  his  'pocket  and  takes 
out  a  handful  of  silver.']  And  here's  the  original  stake. 
[fred  parsons  is  heard  outside  sayings  ''Is  Mr,  Latch 
in  P  "  They  all  look  up,]  Put  that  away,  [journey- 
man puts  away  the  money.  Enter  fred  parsons. 
WILLIAM  goes  to  meet  him,]  Now,  who  is  this  ?  What, 
109 


Mr.  Parsons  !  Well,  Esther,  how  often  have  we  asked 
ourselves  when  we  should  be  honoured  by  a  visit  ? 

FRED 

Latch,  I  want  a  few  words  with  you — quite  private. 

WILLIAM 

If  you'll  wait  here  with  Esther,  I'll  get  rid  of  those 
chaps.  [ESTHER  shakes  hands  with  fred].  I  hope  I 
may  have  the  honour  of  drinking  a  glass  of  champagne 
with  you,  sir  ?  And,  John,  you'll  join  us  ?  Ketley, 
Journeyman — ^two  of  my  old  friends,  sir.  \Jhey  go 
out.  KETLEY  and  WILLIAM  ate  the  last  to  leave  the  stage. 
7o  KETLEY.]  He  ain't  proud ;  he'll  shake  hands  with 
you  in  the  bar. 

[Exeunt.'] 

ESTHER 

So,  Fred,  you've  come  to  see  me  at  last. 

FRED 

I'd  have  come  before,  but  I  wasn't  sure  that  you 
would  care  to  see  me.  There's  nothing  in  common 
between  us  now,  Esther  ;  you  belong  to  a  different 
world. 


ESTHER 

If  it's  only  to  reproach  me  you've  come,  Fred- 


FRED 

No,  not  to  reproach  you,  but  to  help  you  if  I  can. 

ESTHER 

To  help  us  ? 
no 


FRED 

If  I  can.  I  belong  to  the  Committee  for  the  Suppres- 
sion of  Illegal  Betting,  and  we've  got  information  that 
betting  has  been  carried  on  here.  I've  come  to  v^arn 
you.  If  it  was  found  out  that  I  had  been  here,  I 
shouldn't  be  trusted  again.  But,  Esther,  I  can't  see 
you  ruined  without  trying  to  save  you. 

ESTHER 

It's  very  good  of  you,  Fred  ;    but  what  can  I  say  ? 

William  will  be  back  in  a  minute.     You  can  tell  him. 

FRED 

Yes  ;  but  now  that  we're  alone  I  would  like  to  try  to 
persuade  you  to  get  him  to  give  up  this  betting. 

ESTHER 

How  can  I,  Fred  ?     Situated  as  we  are. 

FRED 

The  wrong  road  is  the  only  road.     Esther,  Esther  ! 

ESTHER 

No,  Fred,  no. 

FRED 

It's  a  sore  trial  to  me  to  find  you  here  in  a  public- 
house.     It  breaks  my  heart  to  see  you  here. 

ESTHER 

I  believe  you  did  care  for  me,  Fred.     I  was  sorry  to 

break  it  off,  you  know  I  was,  but  it  wasn't  my  fault. 

FRED 

Nor  was  it  mine.  If  William  hadn't  come  back  that 
in 


day  and  taken  out  Jackie  for  that  suit  of  clothes  he'd 
have  been  too  late.  You  remember,  Esther,  how  I 
pitched  Jackie's  boat  into  the  corner  and  how  Jackie 
cried  ?  If  I  hadn't  let  my  temper  get  the  better  of 
me  that  day,  I've  often  thought  that  it  might  have 
been  different.  But  all  that's  over  now.  How  is 
Jackie  ?  Has  he  forgiven  me  ?  Does  he  ever  speak 
of  me  ? 

ESTHER 

Indeed  he  do,  Fred  ;  he  often  and  often  asks  why  it 
is  that  you  never  come  to  see  us. 

FRED 

He's  at  school,  I  suppose  ? 

ESTHER 

Yes,  at  school  every  day,  busy  as  a  little  bee.  \Enter 
WILLIAM.]  William,  Fred  has  come  to  warn  us  that 
the  house  is  being  watched. 

WILLIAM 

There's  nothing  wrong  with  the  'ouse.  What  does 
he  mean  ? 

FRED 

I've  come  to  tell  you.  Latch,  that  a  trap  has  been  laid, 

or  if  it  hasn't  been  laid  already  it  will  be. 

WILLIAM 

It's  a  lie  ;  there's  no  betting  here. 

ESTHER 

Fred  has  come  out  of  kindness — don't  you  see, 
William  ? 

112 


WILLIAM 

For  your  sake  ? 

ESTHER 

Why  not  for  my  sake  ?  And  he  has  just  come  so  that 
you  may  stop  the  betting-men  from  taking  money  if 
any  should  come  into  the  bar.     Isn't  that  it,  Fred  ? 

FRED 

Yes.  Your  wife,  Latch,  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,  as 
you  know  well,  and  it  was  for  her  sake — though 
perhaps  I  have  done  wrong  in  coming  here.  But  I 
couldn't  help  it. 

WILLIAM 

You  spoke  of  a  trap.  Sending  a  plain-clothes  officer 
to  ask  me  if  I  would  lay  him  the  odds  ? 

FRED 

It  may  be  so — ^that,  or  some  other  trap.  What  I  do 
know  is  that  the  house  is  suspected,  and  for  Esther's 
sake  I  have  come  to  beg  of  you  to  leave  it.  If  you 
could  only  see  the  evil  of  betting  I'm  sure  you  would 
give  it  up.  Every  day  brings  to  us  a  tale  of  fresh 
misfortune,  a  hearth  ruined,  the  mother  in  the  work- 
house, the  daughter  on  the  streets,  the  father  in 
prison,  and  all  on  accoimt  of  betting.  There  isn't  a 
shop-boy  earning  eighteen  shillings  a  week  that  hasn't 
been  round  here  to  put  his  half-crown  on  some  horse. 
This  house  is  the  immoral  centre  of  the  neighbourhood. 
No  one's  money  is  refused.  We  can't  let  this  sort  of 
thing  go  on. 

WILLIAM 

Give  the  house  up  and  turn  my  hand  to  what  ?     Are 

you  and  your  committee  going  to  keep  me  ? 

113  H 


FRED 

It  seems  to  me  that  if  a  thing  is  wrong  it  should  be 
stopped.  But  I  did  not  come  here  to  argue  with  you 
but  to  warn  you.  There's  one  notorious  character — 
a  welcher,  I  think  you  call  him — who  is  known  to 
frequent  this  public-house. 

WILLIAM 

I  allow  no  welchers  in  my  bar.  That  cove  you  speak 
of  is  Bill  Evans.  He's  hanging  round  here  after  Sarah 
Tucker,  the  girl  wot  was  with  Esther  in  situation  at 
Woodview.  She  came  to  us  for  protection  from  him, 
and  he  suspects  she's  here. 

ESTHER 

We're  keeping  her  until  she  can  get  a  situation  ;  but 
she  mustn't  see  that  brute  again. 

WILLIAM 

If  he  ever  comes  into  my  bar  again  I'll  let  him  know 
for  what !     [A  loud  voice  is  heard.']     Who's  that  ? 

A  VOICE 

Hi !  mister,  are  you  there  ? 

WILLIAM 

It's  Bill  Evans.  Quick,  Esther,  don't  let  Sarah  show 
herself  !  [esther  disaf pears  through  door  on  left,  bill 
enters.]  Now,  what  do  you  want  here  ?  And  who, 
I'd  like  to  know,  gave  you  leave  to  make  free  with  my 
house  ?  I  had  you  put  out  of  the  bar  and  now  you've 
found  your  way  upstairs.     Out  you  go  ! 

BILL 

Now,  mister,  not  quite  so  hasty.  You  have  my  wife  here. 
114 


WILLIAM 

Your  wife  !  How  do  I  know  if  you  have  a  wife  ? 
I  don't  know  your  women  ;  it's  enough  to  know  you. 

BILL 

A  little  more  manners,  if  you  please.  My  wife  or  my 
Poll — what  does  it  matter  ?  You  know  her  well 
enough,  since  you  were  in  Sussex  together.  And  she's 
here,  I   know,  a-hiding 

WILLIAM 

It's  pretty  likely  she  is  hiding,  wherever  she  is. 

BILL 

She's  my  wife  ;  it's  none  of  your  business  what  I  does 
to  her. 

WILLIAM 

Your  wife  !     When  did  you  get  married  to  her,  I'd 

like  to  know. 

BILL 

In  Brussels. 

WILLIAM 

And  was  it  in  Brussels  you  sent  her  out  on  the  streets 
to  get  money  for  you  ? 

BILL 

She  told  you  that  ? 

WILLIAM 

It's  none  of  your  business  what  she  told  me.     Brussels 

isn't  the  same  place  as  here,  and  the  police  over  there — — 

115 


BILL 

It  don't  suit  you  very  well,  mister,  to  talk  of  the 
police  to  me.  Perhaps  they'll  be  knocking  at  your 
door  before  they  find  time  to  come  knocking  at  mine. 
Do  you  'ear  ? 

WILLIAM 

Yes,  I  'ear. 

BILL 

Well,  are  you  going  to  give  me  back  my  wife  ? 

WILLIAM 

She  ain't  here. 

BILL 

That's  a  lie  !  Come,  are  you  going  to  fetch  her,  or 
shall  I  beckon  the  boy  in  blue  ?  He  that's  waiting 
at  the  corner. 

WILLIAM 

What  do  you  want  her  for  ? 

BILL 

A  man  has  a  right  to  his  own  wife.  [Enter  esther.] 
'Ere  you,  missus,  have  you  any  news  of  Sarah  for  me  ? 

ESTHER 

She's  a  long  way  from  you  wherever  she  is. 

BILL 

A  jolly  girl  Sarah  ;  one  I  won't  be  parted  from  for  all 

the  money  in  your  till. 

ii6 


ESTHER 
She's  not  here. 

[bill    sidles    towards   the   door  Esther    has    come 

through,'] 

WILLIAM 

Come  back  from  that  door. 

BILL 

Ah  !   so  she's  in  there,  is  she  ! 

[Door  of  ens  and  sarah  appears.] 

SARAH 

Is  that  you,  Bill  ? 

BILL 

Well,  what  do  you  think  ?     Come  and  have  a  look  if 
you  ain't  sure. 

SARAH 

Leave  me  here  for  a  bit  longer. 

BILL 

But  you  see  I'm  that  tired  every  minute  I'm  out  of 
your  company. 

SARAH 

Don't  make  me  go  to-day  ;   I've  been  ill. 

BILL 

Come  now,  quick  step,  none  of  that  nonsense  !     What 

are  you  waiting  for  ? 

117 


WILLIAM 

Now  then  ;  no  one  raises  his  hand  to  a  woman  in  my 
'ouse. 

BILL 

'Ere,  you  shut  up. 

SARAH 

I'll  come  with  you  ;  I'll  get  my  hat.     [Exit.'] 

BILL 

Well,  now,  that  bit  of  business  has  been  settled  to  my 
satisfaction  ;   there's  just  one  other  little  thing  to  do. 

WILLIAM 

And  that  is  to  take  your  'ook. 

BILL 

I'm  not  going  to  worry  you,  I  like  you  too  well  for 
that — ^if  it  wasn't  for  the  damned  bad  luck  I've  had 
ever  since  our  return.  Now,  what  would  you  say  to 
a  little  bet  ?  I've  a  good  tip  for  the  Chester  Cup. 
How  much  will  you  give  ? 

WILLIAM 

Is  that  all  you  have  to  say  to  me  ? 

BILL 

A  quid — ^twenty- five  to  one. 

WILLIAM 

You  aren't  worth  a  quid,  nor  yet  a  thin  'un  ;  a  tanner, 
or  the  change  out  of  one — three  coppers. 

BILL 

I'm  good  for  a  quid  sooner  or  later,  though  you  did 

take  my  wife  from  me. 

ii8 


ESTHER 

William  don't  want  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  you. 

BILL 

Look  'ere,  missus,  you  folks  have  taken  my  wife  and 
taught  her  to  say  her  prayers,  and  to  look  on  me  as 
'ardly  worth  the  change  out  of  a  tanner  ;  three  coppers, 
'e  said.  Don't  you  think  you  might  do  something  for 
me  ?  I'm  tired  of  the  life  I'm  leading  and  I  want  to 
start  afresh  in  a  new  country.  Now,  what  do  you  say, 
governor^  to  a  loan  of  twenty-five  pounds  ? 

WILLIAM 

Well,  that's  a  good  one!  Lend  the  likes  of  you 
twenty- five  quid  ! 

BILL 

Well,  governor,  I'm  tired  of  the  old  country,  and  you 
say  you  don't  like  to  see  me  hanging  round  'ere. 
Don't  you  think  it  would  serve  your  turn  to  have  me 
out  of  the  way  ?  Me  and  Sarah  might  sail  for  a  new 
country  and  a  new  life. 

WILLIAM 

A  new  life  ? 

BILL 

Yes,  a  new  life  ;  only  a  matter  of  five-and-twenty 
quid.  Now  then,  governor,  we've  been  cackling  long 
enough.     Cough  up.     Five-and-twenty. 

WILLIAM 

Why  should  I  give  you  money  ? 

BILL 

Cough  up  at  once.     We're  only  wasting  time. 
119 


WILLIAM 

You'll  get  nothing  out  of  me  that's  worth  your  while. 

BILL 

Then  you'll  choke,  that's  all. 

WILLIAM 

What  do  you  mean  ! 

[sARAH  af fears  with  her  hat  on.] 

BILL 

Never  mind.     You  just  give  me  the  money  smart, 
that's  all. 

WILLIAM 

I'll  see  you  damned  first ! 

BILL  [Putting  on  his  hat] 

So  long,  then,  boss !     I  must  be  going  'ome  to  write 

a  letter  to  the  boy  in  blue  that's  been  yearning  his 

heart  out  this  long  while  for  some  news  of  this  'ere 

'ouse. 

WILLIAM 

So  peaching  is  your  game,  is  it !     Out  you  go ! 

BILL 

Come  now,  five-and-twenty  pounds. 

WILLIAM  [Taking  him  by  the  shoulder] 
Out  you  go  ! 

BILL 

Hands  off,  mate,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  any  one 
that  comes  interfering  with  me  ! 

120 


WILLIAM  [Pushing  him  towards  the  stairs'] 

Get  out  of  this,  you  dirty  cur,  low  ponce,  back  to 

Brussels! 

BILL 

'Ere,  easy  now  ! 

\They  struggle, '\ 

ESTHER 

Try  to  get  your  man  away. 

[sARAH  and  ESTHER  try  to  separate  them,     william 
pushes  BILL  dozen  the  stairs  and  he  is  heard  jailing?^ 

WILLIAM  \0n  the  staircase'] 

Two  seconds  I  give  you  to  get  out  of  my  bar.  Or  do 
you  mean  to  wait  for  me  to  pitch  you  out  ?     A  swine 
like  you  only  fit  for  Brussels  porkshops  !     You  won't 
go  ?     We'll  see  about  that. 
[He  goes  down  the  stairs^ 

SARAH  [Clinging  to  Esther] 

Esther,  he'll  kill  me — ^he'll  kill  me  to-night ! 

ESTHER 

They're  fighting  now.  Blows,  more  blows.  What 
was  that  ? 

SARAH 

I  heard  nothing. 

ESTHER 

It  was  like  a  groan.  There,  again.  Somebody  is  being 
killed.  Fred,  come  !  [She  rushes  towards  fred.]  Come, 
for  he  may  be  killing  my  husband  ! 

[bill  rushes  in  brandishing  a  knife,] 

121 


BILL 

Keep  off,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  you.  [Looking 
round.]  Where  does  that  door  lead  to  ?  Keep  off, 
or  m  serve  you  as  I  served  him. 

[ESTHER,  SARAH,  and  FRED  Struggle  with  him.  bill 
deals  FRED  a  heavy  bloza,  tears  himself  away  jrom 
ESTHER,  who  throws  herselj  bejore  the  door.  T^wo 
policemen  enter,  bill  turns  on  them^  hut  is  quickly 
disarmed^ 

ESTHER 

What  has  he  done  in  the  bar,  for  I  heard  a  fall  and 
a  groan  ?  My  husband — has  he  been  hurt  by  this 
man  or  stabbed  ? 

FIRST  POLICEMAN 

A  man  is  lying  on  the  iioor  in  the  bar,  under  the 
counter  near  the  door. 

SECOND  POLICEMAN 
A  tall  man. 

BILL 

That's  he ;  God  rest  his  soul.  But  it  was  done  in 
fair  fight. 

ESTHER 

Husband !  Stabbed !  \llurning^^  Dead !  \^he  runs 
down  the  stairs^ 

BILL 

I  say  that  it  was  done  in  fair  fight,  and  with  my  last 
breath.  I  did  it,  for  he  had  me  by  the  throat  and  I 
should  have  strangled. 

122 


FIRST  POLICEMAN  [Indicating  sarah] 
Who  is  this  ? 

BILL 

She's  my  Poll ;  and  a  very  good  Poll  she's  been  to  me ; 
one  that  will  soon  forget  the  hard  words.  Perhaps 
once  or  twice  I  did  knock  you  about — and  if  I  did  put 
you  on  the  streets 

SARAH 

You  couldn't  starve,  Bill.     I'll  go  to  the  station  with 

you. 

[Exeunt  constables,  sarah,  and  bill,  fred  is 
left  alone  ;  he  sinks  into  a  chair.  A  moment  after ^ 
enter  ginger.] 

GINGER 

Hello  !  What's  the  matter  ?  Hurt  ?  [fred  tries  to 
get  uf]    No,  sit  down. 

FRED 

I  shall  be  all  right  presently.     A  glass  of  water. 

[ginger  -pours  some  water  into  one  of  the  glasses,] 

GINGER 

Now,  drink  this.     Has  he  had  his  knife  into  you  too  ? 

FRED 

A  blow — only  a  blow. 

GINGER 

A  pretty  heavy  one.     Drink  some  more.     He'll  hang 

for  this. 
123 


FRED  [After  drinking] 

You  said  somebody  would  be  hanged  ? 

GINGER 

It  was  Bill  Evans  that  struck  you,  wasn't  it  ? 

FRED 

Hang  !     Why  should  they  hang  him  ?     I'm  not  dead. 

GINGER 

No  ;  but  William  died  on  the  way  to  the  hospital. 

FRED 

I  don't  think  I  understand.     I'm  still  a  bit  dazed. 

GINGER 

Sit  quiet.     Have  some  more. 

[He  holds  the  glass  to  his  lips  and  sprinkles  hisfaceJ] 

FRED  ' 

And  Esther — ^where  is  she  ? 

GINGER 

Gone  to  the  hospital. 

FRED 

Is  she  ill  ? 

GINGER 

No,  no  ;  you'll  hear  all  about  it  presently.  You're 
sure  you're  not  seriously  hurt  ? 

FRED 

No,  no  ;  let  me  think.  Bill  Evans  was  trying  to 
escape  through  that  door  ;  we  stopped  him.  The 
124 


police I  remember  now.     You  say  William  was 

stabbed  and  that  he  died  on  the  way  to  the  'ospital  ? 
The  man  Evans  will  be  hanged.  But  Esther — what 
will  become  of  her  ? 

GINGER 

I'm  afraid  there  are  hard  times  in  front  of  her.  She 
won't  be  able  to  carry  on  the  business. 

FRED 

And  will  have  to  face  the  world  again — she  and  her 
boy.  You  see,  I  knew  her  from  the  beginning,  she 
and  her  child. 

GINGER 

So  there  is  a  child  ? 

FRED 

Yes,  Jackie.  [He  gets  up.]  You're  a  stranger,  then. 
I  thought  that  you  were  one  of  the  betting  men  about 
the  place. 

GINGER 

No  ;  I  am  Arthur  Barfield.  Esther  and  William  were 
servants  at  Woodview  a  long  time  ago,  and  I  hadn't 
seen  William  for  years  till  I  met  him  last  week  at  the 
races.     Now  do  you  understand  ? 

FRED 

Esther  often  spoke  to  me  of  Woodview  and  of  you  and 
your  mother. 

GINGER 

My  mother  used  to  think  a  great  deal  of  Esther,  and 
125 


was  very  sorry  when  she  had  to  leave  Woodview. 
Now  what  are  you  thinking  of  ? 

FRED 

I  am  just  trying  to  think  that  perhaps  your  mother 
might  be  glad  to  have  her  back — if  it  wasn't  for  the 
boy.  If  she  would  leave  Jackie  with  me,  it  might  be 
managed  that  way.     What  do  you  think  ? 

GINGER 

Very  likely  it  could.  But  you're  talking  too  much. 
You  really  must  sit  down  and  keep  quiet. 

FRED  [Sinking  back] 

But  tell  me,  what  will  become  of  Esther  ?     Shall  I 

tell  her  that ?     I  have  forgotten. 

GINGER 

That  my  mother  will  be  glad  to  see  her  ?  Yes,  you 
can  tell  her  that.     Have  some  more  water. 

FRED 

No,  no  ;   I'm  coming  round. 

GINGER 

You  will  if  you  stop  talking.  You've  received  a 
heavier  blow  than  you  think  for. 

FRED 

I'll  rest  here  till  Esther  comes  back.  I  dare  say 
Jackie  will  soon  be  home  from  school. 

[Enter  ketley,  journeyman,  and  randal.] 

GINGER  [Going  to  the  door] 
Well,  John,  this  is  a  bad  business. 
126 


RANDAL 

Very  bad,  sir,  very  bad. 

JOURNEYMAN 

You  didn't  see  the  fight,  sir  ?  William  was  having 
the  best  of  it  till  the  fellow  got  out  his  knife,  and  he 
must  have  got  in  somewhere  about  the  heart,  for 
there  was  hardly  a  groan. 

KETLEY 

A  moan  ;  he  moaned  and  turned  white  as  my  shirt. 

JOURNEYMAN 

Do  you  know  the  chap  yonder  ?  He  seems  pretty 
bad.     Did  Bill  get  the  knife  into  him  too  ? 

GINGER 

No  ;  only  a  blow  of  a  fist.  He'll  be  better  presently. 
I'll  ask  the  doctor  to  come  round  and  look  at  him. 

[Exit  GINGER.      The  tape  begins  clicking  ;   ketley 

and  JOURNEYMAN  go  to  z"^.] 

RANDAL 

Which  is  it  ? 

KETLEY  [Reading] 

Chester  Cup — ^V-A-N — [The  tape  stops] — ^Vanity  ! 

JOURNEYMAN 

It  may  be  Vanguard  ;  he's  in  the  race.  [The  tape 
begins  again,]     I-T-Y. 

KETLEY 

Vanity  !  I  knew  I  was  right ;  the  omens  is  always 
127 


right ;  it's  we  who  aren't  always  in  the  humour  to 
read  them.  What  did  you  say  ?  That  at  the  weights 
Vanity  couldn't  win  ? 

JOURNEYMAN 

Well,  you've  got  your  vanity,  and  it  would  be  hard  to 
find  a  greater  vanity  than  a  bet  with  a  dead  book- 
maker. 

RANDAL 

Briar  Rose — a  straight  tip,  I  thought.     [Hopelessly.] 

Luck  will  never  come  my  way  again. 


[Curtain,] 


128 


Act  V 

Scene  :  mr.  Arthur  barfield's  room  at  Woodview, 
There  are  saddles^  spurs,  boots,  ^c,  lying  about. 
Pictures  of  race- horses  on  the  walls,  randal  is 
moving  about  the  room  ;  jackie  is  standing  watching 
him. 


RANDAL 

You  had  better  be  off  to  school ;  it's  half-past  eight. 

JACKIE 

I've  still  ten  minutes.     Please  finish  the  story. 

RANDAL 

Well,  you  might  as  well  clean  these  spurs  while  you're 
waiting.  \}le  hands  him  a  pair,]  Where  was  I  ?  At 
that  moment  the  Demon  looked  over  his  shoulder 

JACKIE 

You're  leaving  out  something.  You  told  me  that 
Mr.  Barfield  didn't  want  the  horse  to  win  by  twenty 
lengths. 

RANDAL 

Of  course  not ;  otherwise  they  would  be  laying  odds 
on  him  for  the  Chesterfield.  No  one  wants  his  horse 
to  win  by  twenty  lengths. 

JACKIE 

Then  why  did  the  Gaffer  turn  pale  when  he  saw  the 

Demon  look  over  his  shoulder  ? 

129  I 


RANDAL 

Because  if  a  horse  isn't  giving  out  his  running 

But  I  can't  tell  the  story  if  you  stop  me. 

JACKIE 

Well,  don't  be  waxy.  Go  on — from  when  the  Demon 
took  up  the  whip. 

RANDAL 

The  moment  the  Demon  struck  the  'orse  he  swerved 
right  across  the  course,  under  the  stand,  and,  seeing 
what  was  happening,  the  Tinman  sat  down  and  began 
riding. 

JACKIE 

The  Tinman  was  riding  Bird- Catcher  ? 

RANDAL 

You're  out  there.  He  was  riding  Man-at-Arms. 
About  half-way  up  the  rails  the  Tinman  got  level  with 
the  Demon.  It  looked  as  if  it  was  all  up  ;  but  Silver 
Braid  took  to  galloping  of  his  own  accord,  and  having 
such  a  mighty  lot  in  hand,  he  won  on  the  post  by  a 
head — a  short  head. 

JACKIE 

And  if  Silver  Braid  hadn't  won,  what  would  have 
happened  ? 

RANDAL 

It's  'ard  to  say.     The  Gaffer  would  have  been  a  busted 

flush,  and  the  horses  would  have  been  sold  and  the 

place  shut  up. 

130 


JACKIE 

It  wasn't  the  first  time  that  a  horse  saved  Woodview. 

RANDAL 

Not  by  a  long  chalk.  When  Rosacrucian  won  the 
City  and  Suburban  the  bailiffs  were  trying  to  get 
in  here. 

[jACKiE  goes  over  and  looks  at  a  picture.] 

JACKIE 

Rosacrucian  is  the  horse  I'd  like  to  ride. 

RANDAL 

The  'andsomest  horse  that  ever  was  seen  at  Newmarket 
Heath.  The  bookies  said,  "  Why,  he's  only  a  harab  !  '* 
and  laid  twenty  to  one  against  him. 

JACKIE 

Was  Rosacrucian  before  Silver  Braid  ? 

RANDAL 

Years  before. 

JACKIE 

And  were  you  here  when  all  these  horses  won  ? 

RANDAL 

Yes,  I  was  with  the  Gaffer  when  Don  Louis — that 
one  over  there — was  nobbled,  and  that's  forty  year 
ago.     It  must  be  quite  that. 

JACKIE 

What's  nobbled  ? 
131 


RANDAL 

A  week  before  the  Cambridgeshire  was  run  they  got 
into  his  stable. 

JACKIE 

Who  ? 

RANDAL 

Parties  that  didn't  want  him  to  win  ;  and  they  put 
a  bandage  round  his  leg  and  hit  him  all  the  way  down 
with  a  ruler — ^that's  how  it  was  done. 

JACKIE 

Shame  !     They  ought  to  have  been  hanged. 

RANDAL 

We  were  up  night  and  day  stuping  the  near  fore  leg. 

JACKIE 

And  he  won  all  the  same  ? 


RANDAL 

Yes,  and  by  a  dozen  lengths. 

JACKIE 

That  was  bad  riding. 

RANDAL 

It  didn't  matter  ;    we  knew  he  would  never  stand 
training  again. 

JACKIE 

You  had  a  near  squeak  with  Ben  Nevis  ? 
132 


RANDAL 

We  had  more  than  a  squeak,  we  was  done  that  time. 
The  owner  of  the  second  horse  lodged  an  objection 
on  the  ground  that  the  Gaffer  had  not  paid  his  forfeits. 
The  Gaffer  was  had  up  before  the  stewards  of  the 
Jockey  Club.  He  died  soon  after,  and  Mr.  Arthur 
took  it  into  his  head  that  Woodview  was  unlucky,  and 
went  away  to  train  in  the  north. 

JACKIE 

Did  you  go  with  him  ? 

RANDAL 

No  ;  I  went  to  London  to  try  my  luck.  And  damned 
bad  luck  I  had  !  And  damned  bad  luck  followed 
Mr.  Arthur  into  the  north,  all  the  horses  breaking 
down  or  running  second.  Them  were  his  very  words 
to  me  in  the  King's  Head  the  day  that  your  poor 
father  was  killed.  He  says,  "  John,  I  couldn't  stand 
it  any  longer,  so  I  sold  the  place  up  and  am  back  in 
Woodview  again  training  on  the  Downs.  After  all 
we  had  better  luck  there  than  anywhere  else.  If  you 
like  to  come  to  Woodview  again  you  can." 

JACKIE 

And  he  brought  mummie  back  too ;   so  you're  all  the 
same  as  years  ago,  only  I  wasn't  here  then. 
[He  goes  to  the  window,'] 

RANDAL 

My  young  man.  I  think  it's  about  time  you  started  for 
school.     Have  you  the  spurs  finished  ? 

[jACKiE  hands  him  the  spurs.] 
133 


JACKIE 

I  have  a  few  minutes  still,  and  there's  no  use  my  going 
until  I  know  if  Chimney  Sweep  has  won  his  trial. 
Mr.  Barfield  can't  be  long  now.  [He  takes  up  his 
school  books  and  swings  them  by  the  strap.]  I  wish  he'd 
hurry.  He'll  come  in  pretty  muddy,  I  reckon.  They 
goes  through  some  plough  as  they  come  round  by 
Summersdean.  While  you're  taking  off  his  spurs  and 
his  gaiters  he'll  be  telling  you  about  the  trial,  how 
Chimney  Sweep  finished,  and  his  chances  for  the 
National.  When  you  go  up  in  the  morning  with  his 
clothes  and  his  'ot  water  you  remains  in  his  room  for 
ages  talking  of  the  entries,  the  gallops  and  the  trials — 
so  they  says  in  the  stables. 

RANDAL 

They  says  more  than  their  prayers  in  the  stables. 

JACKIE 

I  wonder,  Mr.  Randal,  if  he'd  let  me  valet  him — I 
mean  when  you're  dead. 

RANDAL 

When  I'm  dead  ! 

JACKIE 

That  won't  be  for  a  long  time,  I  know  ;   but 


RANDAL 

But  what  ? 

JACKIE 

Wouldn't  it  be  nice  if  you  was  to  send  me  to  Liverpool 
to  valet  Mr.  Barfield,  if  you're  not  going  yourself  ? 
134 


RANDAL 

Send  you  to  valet  Mr.  Barfield  !  Mr.  Barfield  is  very- 
particular  about  his  top-boots,  and  it  isn't  every  one 
that  can  bring  up  a  pair  of  tops  that  he'll  pull  over 
his  legs. 

JACKIE 

But  you  could  teach  me.  You  said  yesterday  that  the 
boots  I  cleaned  wasn't  half  bad  for  me. 

RANDAL 

Blacking  a  pair  of  laced  boots  is  one  thing,  and  I  admit 
that  you  did  get  a  fair  polish  on  them  for  a  kiddie  like 
you  ;  but  tops  and  Mr.  Arthur's  tops !  The  tops 
he'll  pull  on  the  morning  of  the  Grand  National  is — 
well,  quite  another  pair  of  boots. 

JACKIE 

But  you  could  teach  me.  Tops  is  cleaned  with  cream, 
and  you've  got  the  recipe  in  your  wonderful  press  in 
the  pantry.     You  might  give  it. 

RANDAL 

The  recipe  ? 

JACKIE 

Well,  a  little  of  the  cream.  You  will,  won't  you,  if 
Mr.  Barfield  takes  me  to  Liverpool  with  him  ?  I'd 
love  to  go  !  Is  there  any  chance,  do  you  think  ?  I'd 
see  the  race  from  the  stand.  The  black  jacket  and 
cap  going  over  the  fences  and  the  horse  coming  up  to 
the  brook — ^the  great  black  Chimney  Sweep  tearing  at 
it  and  Mr.  Barfield  a-steering  of  'im.  The  sight 
would  be  that  fine  I'd  go  out  of  my  wits. 
135 


RANDAL 

I  think  you  would. 

[Enter  ginger.  He  is  dressed  in  riding  breeches. 
Throws  himself  into  a  chair,  jackie  puts  his  school 
books  aside  and  whispers  to  randal,  "  May  I  take 
off  his  spurs  P  "     randal  nods,     jackie  goes  over  to 

GINGER.] 

GINGER 

That  horse  Chimney  Sweep  is  a  brute  to  ride — pulling 
all  the  way,  three  miles,  twenty  fences,  his  head  low 
down,  swinging  it  over  the  ground,  sawing  at  the  bit ; 
a  wonderful  fencer,  the  finest  I  ever  rode,  never  laid 
an  iron  on  anything,  and  won  easily.  But  I  say.  Jack, 
I  hope  you  don't  repeat  down  in  Shoreham  anything 
you  hear  up  here. 

JACKIE 

No,  sir  ;   they  never  gets  nothing  out  of  me. 

GINGER 

Gad,  I  am  tired  I 

RANDAL 

You're  looking  a  bit  white  after  your  ride. 

GINGER 

And  I'm  feeling  a  bit  white,  I  can  tell  you,  and  what 
I'm  thinking  is  that  if  I  get  the  pounds  off  I  may  be 
too  weak  to  ride  a  finish,  just  as  I  was  when  The 
Gardener  was  beaten. 

RANDAL 

But  the  year  he  won,  it  was  your  riding  that  did  it. 
136 


GINGER 

I  knew  he  was  going  well  within  himself,  so  I  kept  on 
and  they  never  caught  me.  [Getting  up  and  going  over 
to  the  picture.]  A  great  old  horse  !  Another  big  dose 
of  salts  and  a  long  sweating  walk  should  rid  me  of 
them  ;  a  little  hot  tea  when  I  come  in,  and  for  dinner 
a  lean  cutlet. 

JACKIE    [To  RANDAL] 

Mr,  Randal,  won't  you  speak  for  me  ? 

GINGER 

What  is  this  ?     What  is  he  asking  you  ? 

RANDAL 

He  wants  me  to  send  him  to  Liverpool  to  valet  you  ; 
he'd  like  to  see  you  jump  the  brook,  and  if  you're 
thinking  of  giving  up  riding,  sir 

GINGER 

He  won't  have  another  chance.  Do  you  know,  John, 
I  think  that  the  coming  Liverpool  will  be  the  last 
time  I  shall  ride.  It's  getting  flesh  off  that  is  so 
awful ;  yet  there  was  a  time  when  I  was  as  light  as  he 
is.  [He  lifts  jackie  upJ\  Not  more  than  five-seven. 
What  do  you  think,  John  ? 

RANDAL  [Taking  up  jackie] 

About  what  you  says,  sir  ;  five-six  or  seven. 

JACKIE 

Silver  Braid  didn't  carry  much  more  when  he  won  the 

Cup.     Was  it  five-ten  ? 

137 


GINGER 

He  was  in  at  five-ten,  but  he  carried  six  stone  ;  the  boy 
couldn't  get  off  the  last  two  pounds. 

JACKIE 

Then  I'm  too  heavy  ? 

GINGER 

No  ;   you're  about  five-seven. 

JACKIE 

But  with  the  saddle  and  bridle  ? 

GINGER 

One  rides  the  weight  that  one  stands ;  the  clothes  that 
one  takes  off  counterbalance  the  saddle  and  bridle. 
Look  at  that  saddle !  I've  ridden  many  a  race  in  it, 
but  I'll  never  ride  it  again.  Far  from  it  !  And  here's 
the  bridle.  A  couple  of  pounds,  and  the  boots  three 
or  four  ounces.  [Taking  out  a  racing  caf  and  jacket.'] 
How  would  you  like  to  be  taught  riding.  Jack  ?  Here's 
the  cap  and  jacket  the  Demon  wore.  [Puts  the  cap  on 
Jackie's  head.']     Now  for  the  jacket  ! 

JACKIE  [Getting  into  the  jacket] 
What  about  the  breeches  ? 

GINGER 

You  can  have  the  breeches  on  if  you  like.  We  might 
get  him  into  the  breeches,  John.  They'll  just  about 
fit  him. 

[Enter  esther.     On  seeing  jackie  in  the  caf  and 

jacket  she  stands  unahle  for  a  moment  to  find  sfeech.] 
138 


ESTHER 

I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  ;  I  was  looking  for  Jackie.  It's 
time  for  him  to  go  to  school. 

GINGER 

Very  likely  it  is,  Esther,  but  it  won't  matter  if  he's  a 
few  minutes  late.  You've  just  come  in  time  to  see 
him  in  the  cap  and  jacket  the  Demon  wore  when  he 
won  on  Silver  Braid.  [He  ficks  up  jackie.]  And 
about  five-seven,  Esther,  and  we  want  a  new  light- 
weight in  the  yard.  But  you  don't  seem  pleased. 
What  is  it  ? 

ESTHER 

I  think  he'd  better  go  to  school,  sir. 

\_She  takes  the  caf  off  jackie's  head  and  the  jacket 
jrom  his  shoulders  and  hands  them  to  randal.] 

GINGER 

Esther,  I  can't  allow  anybody  to  dictate  to  me  in  my 
own  house. 


ESTHER 

But  your  mother  promised  me,  sir,  that  he  should  go 
to  school  every  day. 

GINGER  [Signs  to  randal  to  withdraw,     randal  and 

JACKIE  go  out] 
The  boy  is  getting  on  for  fourteen. 

ESTHER 

It  wasn't  of  his  schooling  I  was  thinking. 
139 


GINGER 

You  didn't  like  to  see  him  in  the  jockey's  cap  and 
jacket — ^is  that  it  ? 

ESTHER 

Yes,  sir. 

GINGER 

And  why,  may  I  ask  ? 

ESTHER 

I  didn't  intend  him  for  a  jockey,  sir. 

GINGER 

I  thought  I  was  doing  the  lad  a  good  turn  ;  most 
parents  would  jump  at  the  chance  I  am  offering  Jack. 

ESTHER 

I  dare  say  they  would,  sir  ;  but  then  that's  perhaps 
because  they  haven't  seen  as  much  of  racing  as  I  have. 

GINGER 

The  same  old  song  !  It  seems  never  to  die  out  of  my 
life.  As  soon  as  my  mother  has  dropped  singing  it, 
you  take  it  up. 

ESTHER 

I  have  only  my  boy,  sir  ;  he's  all  I  have. 

GINGER 

But  what  are  you  thinking  of  putting  him  to  ?     Have 

you  any  idea  ? 

140 


ESTHER 

Not  exactly,  sir. 

GINGER 

What  do  you  mean  by  not  exactly  ?  Randal  will 
teach  him  to  wait  at  table,  but  he's  too  small  for  a 
footman  ;  he's  just  the  right  size  for  a  jockey.  He 
won't  begin  to  put  on  flesh  for  years ;  his  father  was 
always  a  thin-gutted  fellow.  Jack  will  be  able  to  ride 
seven  stone  for  a  long  while,  and  if  he  should  happen 
to  ride  the  winner  in  a  big  race  or  two  he'll  be  drinking 
champagne  with  lords. 

ESTHER 

I  don't  think,  sir,  I  would  like  him  to  drink  with  lords, 

or  anything  like  that. 

GINGER 

The  same  old  song  ever  since  I  can  remember.  Well, 
what  do  you  want  to  do  with  him  ? 

ESTHER 

Nothing  that  you  would  approve  of,  sir. 

GINGER 

Well,  let's  hear  it. 

ESTHER 

Fred  Parsons 


GINGER 

Another  of  the  singers,  the  same  old  song,  one  of  them 
141 


that  thinks  everything  in  life  wrong  except  chapel. 
Where  is  he  now  ? 


ESTHER 

He's  timekeeper  at  the  dockyard  in  Portsmouth,  and 

he  has  been  looking  out  for  something  for  Jackie.     He 

wrote   last   week   saying    that    a    messenger-boy   was 

wanted. 

GINGER 

Eight  shillings  a  week  ? 

ESTHER 

That's  it,  sir. 

GINGER 

And  does  Jackie  agree  to  all  this  ? 

ESTHER 

Well,  1  haven't  spoken  to  him  about  it  yet. 

GINGER 

And  when  do  you  intend  to  speak  about  it  to  him  ? 

ESTHER 

He'll  have  to  know  about  it  this  afternoon.  Mr. 
Parsons  is  coming  up  from  Portsmouth  to  take  Jackie 
back  with  him  for  a  day  or  two  ;  that  is,  if  you  can 
spare  him. 

GINGER 

Does  my  mother  know  about  this  ? 

142 


ESTHER 

She  read  Parsons'  letter  for  me,  sir. 
[Enter  mrs.  barfield] 

GINGER 

Mother,  I  was  just  going  to  send  for  you.     W  e  want 
your  advice. 

[He  wheels  a  chair  j or  ward  j or  his  mother^ 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

About  what,  my  dear  Arthur  ? 

GINGER 

About  Esther  and  her  boy.  I'll  just  tell  my  mother 
what  has  happened,  Esther.  I'd  come  in  from  riding, 
mother.  You'll  be  glad  to  hear  Chimney  Sweep  won 
the  trial  ? 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

And  you're  going  to  ride  him  at  Liverpool  ? 

GINGER 

My  last  race,  mother.  I'm  getting  too  heavy.  I  can't 
stand  this  wasting  any  longer  ;  every  bit  I  put  into 
my  mouth  turns  to  tallow  under  the  ribs.  Well,  I 
had  come  in  from  riding,  and  you  know  we're  short 
of  a  boy  in  the  stables ;  we  want  a  light-weight.  As 
Jackie  was  taking  off  my  spurs  I  looked  up,  and  half 
in  fun  I  said,  "  Why,  that's  just  the  fellow  we  want. 
Let's  see  how  he'll  look  in  a  cap  and  jacket."  We 
took  out  the  Demon's  cap  and  jacket  and  put  him 
into  them.  It  was  then  that  Esther  came  into  the  room 
143 


and  without  a  word  took  the  cap  and  jacket  off  and 
said  that  Jack  must  go  to  school. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Well,  you  know,  Arthur,  we  promised  her  that  he 
should  go  to  school  in  the  morning  and  work  in  the 
pantry  in  the  evenings. 

GINGER 

But  that's  not  the  point,  mother.  Esther  doesn't 
mind  him  working  an  odd  day  in  the  pantry  and  missing 
his  school ;  what  she  doesn't  want  is  for  him  to  become 
a  jockey.  She  thinks  a  messenger-boy  in  the 
dockyard  would  suit  him  better.  I  said  to  her,  "  Well, 
you  may  be  right  and  you  may  be  wrong,  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  boy  shouldn't  be  considered  like 
a  box  or  a  trunk  at  a  railway  station  with  a  label  on 
him  '  Portsmouth.'  He  should  have  his  choice."  But 
no.  Esther  got  a  letter,  it  appears,  from  that  very, 
very  pious  man,  more  chapel-going  than  you  ever 
were,  my  dear  mother,  even  in  your  worst  days,  to 
whom  everything  is  wrong  except  going  to  chapel. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

It  really  seems  to  me,  Arthur,  that  this  is  a  matter 

between  Esther  and  her  son. 

GINGER 

But  the  boy  should  be  consulted  and  not  flung  into 
something  that  he  may  have  no  taste  for,  and  which, 
as  I  told  you,  Esther,  leads  nowhere. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Esther,  what  do  you  think  ? 
144 


ESTHER 

We've  seen  so  much  racing,  ma'am,  you  and  I 

GINGER 

The  old  song,  the  old  song. 

MRS.  BARFIELD  V 

No,  my  dear  boy,  I'm  not  going  to  sing  any  old  song  \ 
to  you  any  more.  You  see,  Esther,  when  we  have 
been  in  life  for  a  long  time  the  edges  get  worn  away, 
we  become  like  pebbles  in  a  brook.  It  isn't  that  I  am 
less  God-fearing  now  in  my  old  age  than  I  was  when 
I  was  a  girl ;  I  hope  there  has  been  no  backsliding  ;  but 
one  isn't  so  anxious  as  one  was  to  reform  the  world. 
One  feels  that  to  be  impossible,  and  that  perhaps  if 
we  could  reform  it  we  mightn't  be  as  well  pleased  with 
it  as  we  thought  for.  We  didn't  make  the  world, 
Esther,  and  if  the  world  is  what  it  is,  it  is  because 
God  intended  it  so.  My  son  keeps  a  racing  stable,  and 
he  is  as  honourable  in  his  calling  as  any  other  man  in 
his.  He  has  been  a  very  good  son  to  me,  Esther,  and  I 
don't  think  that  he  would  advise  you  to  do  anything  . 
wrong.  y^ 

ESTHER 

Then  you  think,  ma'am,  that 


GINGER 

Esther,  please  to  understand  that  I  don't  propose  to 
make  a  jockey  of  the  boy  against  his  will. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

I  think,  Esther,  Mr.  Barfield  is  right.     You  might 

regret  it  very  much  afterwards  if  you  sent  him  away 

to  Portsmouth  without  his  consent. 

145  K 


GINGER 

And  sending  him  with  that  nasty,  cantankerous, 
narrow-minded  little  bigot. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Don't  speak  of  Mr.  Parsons  like  that,  Arthur.  Remem- 
ber he  is  Esther's  friend  and  has  stood  hy  her  when 
there  was  nobody  else  to  stand  by  her. 

GINGER 

I'm  sorry,  Esther. 

ESTHER 

It  doesn't  matter,  sir,  it  doesn't  matter.  I  suppose 
he  should  be  given  his  choice.  But  there  was 
William 

GINGER 

There  are  mishaps  always,  Esther.  Besides,  William 
was  a  betting  man,  and  racing  and  betting  aren't  the 
same  thing.  I'm  glad  to  see  that  she's  coming  round 
to  my  view.  You  really  can't  send  him  off  to  run 
messages.     Mother,  you'll  speak  to  her. 

[Exit  GINGER.     ESTHER  takss  a  dustcr  and  begins 

dusting  some  furniture, '] 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Then,  Esther,  it's  understood  ? 

ESTHER 

I  suppose  so,  ma'am. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

But  what  is  the  matter,  Esther  ? 
146 


ESTHER 

I  don't  know  how  I'm  going  to  tell  Parsons,  ma'am. 
He  has  set  his  heart  on  getting  the  boy  this  place. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

But  Jackie  may  choose  to  go  to  Portsmouth. 

ESTHER 

I'm  afraid  not,  ma'am  ;  he's  grown  too  fond  of  the 
stables.     He  thinks  of  little  else  but  horses. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

But  no  matter  what  choice  he  may  make,  you'll  stay 
on  here  with  us,  Esther,  won't  you  ?  ...  Or  did 
you  think  of  marrying  Mr.  Parsons  ? 

ESTHER 

He  has  waited  for  me  so  long. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

And  would  you  like  to  marry  him  ? 

ESTHER 

Well,  ma'am,  this  is  the  way  it  is.  I've  been  working 
hard  ever  since  I  was  fifteen,  and  when  a  woman  has 
worked  for  twenty  years  she  feels  that  the  time  has 
come  for  a  little  rest  in  her  life,  and  she  would  like  to 
have  somebody  to  look  after  her  ;  that's  all,  ma'am. 
That's  all.  And  then  there's  just  the  wish  to  make 
somebody  happy.  Fred  has  waited  for  me  all  his  life. 
It  seems  hard  that  he  should  be  disappointed  in  the  end. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

But  he  ought  to  be  able  to  see  that  the  boy  must  be 

given  his  choice. 

H7 


ESTHER 

'E  don't  think  like  Mr.  Arthur.  It  will  seem  to  him 
like  saying  you  have  your  choice  to  go  the  right  way 
or  the  wrong  way. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

I  was  like  that  once  myself.     It  was  always  the  right 
way  and  the  wrong  way. 
[Enter  randal.] 

RANDAL 

Somebody  has  come  to  see,  Esther,  ma'am. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Mr.  Parsons  ? 

RANDAL 

That's  the  name  he  gave,  I  think. 

MRS.  BARFIELD 

Will  you  show  Mr.  Parsons  up  here,  John.  [Exit 
RANDAL.]  You  had  better  see  him  here,  Esther  ; 
you'll  be  undisturbed,  and  I'll  send  Jackie  to  you. 

[Exit     MRS.      BARFIELD.       FRED      PARSONS     etlterS     a 

moment  after. 1 

FRED  ' 

How  do  you  do,  Esther  ?  [Looking  round  the  room^  he 
sees  pictures  of  race-horses^  bridles^  sfurs^  and  zvhips.] 
Why  am  I  brought  up  here  ? 

ESTHER 

Mrs.  Barfield  said  it  would  be  better  to  see  you  here, 
148 


on  account  of  the  other  servants,  and  as  we  have 
things  to  talk  about 

FRED 

I've  got  the  place  for  Jackie,  and  the  wages  are  better 
than  we  expected  ;  he'll  begin  at  ten  shillings  a  week. 
Don't  you  think  that's  very  good,  Esther,  for  a  boy  of 
his  age  ? 

ESTHER 

Yes,  Fred,  it's  very  good. 

FRED 

I  was  thinking  I  might  take  him  along  with  me  by 
the  afternoon  train,  and  it  can  be  all  settled  this 
evening. 

ESTHER 

I  don't  think  I  could  get  his  clothes  ready  by  then  ; 

and  he's  wanted  in  the  pantry. 

FRED 

Then  you  haven't  told  them  ?  .  .   .  May  I  sit  down, 

Esther  ?     I've  walked  rather  fast  from  the  station. 

ESTHER 

Yes,  sit  down. 

FRED 

And  won't  you  ?  But  what  is  the  matter,  Esther  ? 
No,  I  can't  sit  down.  I  must  have  it  out  with  you,  I 
can't  wait. 

ESTHER 

I  haven't  spoken  to  Jackie  about  this  plan  of  yours. 

149 


FRED 

Why  should  you  speak  to  him  ?  Doesn't  his  mother 
know  what  is  best  for  him  ? 

ESTHER 

But  if  he  doesn't  like  it  ? 

FRED 

He'll  soon  grow  to  like  it.  Or  perhaps  you  have  some 
other  plan  for  him. 

ESTHER 

Mr.  Barfield  wants  me  to  make  a  jockey  out  of  him. 

FRED 

Esther  !  You  aren't  going  to  begin  that  wickedness 
all  over  again  ? 

ESTHER 

But  don't  you  think,  Fred,  that  Jackie  should  be  given 
his  choice  ? 

FRED 

His  choice  of  being  a  jockey  !  Give  a  child  his  choice 
of  going  to  the  devil  ? 

ESTHER 

But  he  is  that  taken  up  with  the  life  here  in  the 

stables. 

FRED 

Then,  Esther,  you  are  going  to  allow  your  son  to  take 
up  the  same  life  of  wickedness  as  his  father.  [EnUr 
JACKIE.]  How  are  you,  Jackie  ?  I've  got  good  news 
i;o 


for  you.  I've  got  an  appointment  for  you  as  messenger 
boy  in  the  dockyard  ;  ten  shillings  a  week  to  begin 
upon,  and  afterwards  if  you  give  satisfaction  there's 
plenty  of  opportunity  for  bettering  yourself.  Aren't 
you  glad  ?     [jackie  hesitates,'] 

ESTHER 

Just  say  what  you  have  in  your  mind,  Jackie. 

JACKIE 

Why  can't  I  stay  here,  mummie  ? 

FRED 

If  you  come  to  Portsmouth,  Jackie,  you'll  see  great 

ships — you'll  live  among  ships. 

JACKIE 

Are  there  any  horses  in  Portsmouth  ?  [parsons  shakes 
his  head.]  Then  if  I  go  to  Portsmouth  I'll  never  see 
a  horse  again  ;   and  I  shan't  see  mummie  either. 

ESTHER 

I'll  go  to  Portsmouth  with  you. 

[jackie  looks  from  one  to  the  other!] 

JACKIE 

But,  mummie,  why  can't  you  stay  here  and  let  me  be 
a  jockey  ?  Mr.  Barfield  says  if  I  have  any  luck  and 
win  I  may  be  drinking  champagne  with  lords. 

FRED 

Like  father  like  son. 

JACKIE 

Oh  !  can't  I  stay  here  with  you,  mummie  ? 
151 


ESTHER 

Yes,  dear.     Run  away  now  to  the  pantry. 

[Exit  JACKIE.] 

FRED 

Like  father  like  son. 

ESTHER 

You  mustn't  speak  ill  of  my  boy  to  me  ;  any  other 
boy  would  have  chosen  as  he  did. 

FRED 

1  hope  you  won't  regret  your  choice,  Esther,  that's 
all.  I  thought  we  would  have  watched  the  boy  grow 
up  together  in  the  service  of  the  Lord,  but  now  you'll 
have  to  leave  him  here  going  down  to  the  devil. 

ESTHER 

I  must  keep  my  boy. 

FRED 

Esther,  I've  waited  all  these  years  for  you  ;  you  surely 

will  not  refuse  me  now  ? 

ESTHER 

I  must  stay  with  my  boy. 

FRED 

Is  that  your  last  word,  Esther  ? 

ESTHER 

Yes,  Fred. 

FRED 

And  we  say  good-bye  ? 
152 


ESTHER 

You  wouldn't  like  me  afterwards  if  I  was  to  leave 
my  boy.  I  must  stay  with  him.  You  know  I  am 
doing  right,  Fred,  you  that  has  worked  for  righteous- 
ness all  your  life. 

\He  goes  out.     A  moment  after  jackie  enters  and 

rushes  into  his  mother^ s  arms.^ 


[Curtain,] 


Printed  by 

BALLANTYNE  &>  COMPANY  LTD 

AT  THE    BALLANTYNE  PRESS 

Tavistock  Street  Covrnt  Garden 

London 


14  DAY  USE 

K.TUKN  TO  DBSK  BKOM  WHICH  BOKKOWBD 
LOAN  DEPT.       -^  ^  3 

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